BY 


II 


PERCY  mm, 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY    OF 
CALIFORNIA 


JEANNE   D'ARC 


JEANNE   D'ARC 


BY 


PERCY  (MACKAYE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS, 
"FENRIS,  THE  WOLF,"  ETC. 


*  Travaillez,  travaillez,  et  Dieu  travaillertt." 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
IQO/ 

All  rights  reserved 


REPLACING 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  October,  1906. 
Reprinted  December,  1906;  February,  September,  1907. 


NoriaooU 

J.  8.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.8.A. 


96O 


f 


AUGUSTUS   SAINT-GAUDENS 

IN  GRATEFUL  REMEMBRANCE 

OF    RARE    INCENTIVES 

TO  THIS  WORK 


M876773 


CHARACTERS 

AT  DOMREMY 

*JACQUES   D'ARC,  father  of  Jeanne. 

*PIERRE   D'ARC,  brother  of  Jeanne,  courting  Mengette. 

SEIGNEUR  PIERRE   DE   BOURLEMENT,  proprietor  of 
«  The  Ladies*  Tree." 

COLIN,  courting  Jeanne. 

GERARD,  home  from  the  English  wars,  betrothed  to  Hauviette. 

GERARDIN,  a  Burgundian  villager,  courting  Isabellette. 
*PERRIN,  bell-ringer  of  Domremy. 

*JEANNE   D'ARC  (« Jeannette"),  the  Maid. 
HAUVIETTE,  her  girlfriend. 
ISABELLETTE,  a  peasant  girl. 
MENGETTE,  a  peasant  girl. 

*ST.   MICHAEL. 

*ST.   MARGARET   AND   ST.   CATHERINE. 
THE  « LADIES   OF   LORRAINE,"  i.e.   the  Fairies  of  the 
Tree. 

IN  FRANCE 

*CHARLES  VII,  King  of  France. 
*JEAN,  DUC  D'ALEN£ON,  his  cousin. 
*SEIGNEUR   DE  LA  TREMOUILLE,  his  favorite. 
*REGNAULT   DE   CHARTRES,  Archbishop  of  Rheims. 
RENE   DE   BOULIGNY,  Receiver-General  of  France. 

vii 


viii  CHARACTERS 

VENDOME,  the  King's  Chamberlain. 
*DUNOIS,  French  Commander  at  Orleans. 
'MARSHAL  LA   HIRE. 

*JEAN   DE   METZ,  of  Jeanne 'j  escort  to  the  King. 
*BERTRAND   DE   POULANGY,  of  the  same. 
*PASQUEREL,  St.  Augustine  Friar,  Jeanne's  Confessor. 

PIGACHON,  Franciscan  Friar. 

MASTER   SEGUIN,  Dominican  of  Poitiers. 

BROTHER   RICHARD,  a  Mendicant  Friar. 
"LOUIS   DE   CONTES,  Jeanne's  Page,  a  boy. 
*PIERRE   CAUCHON,  Bishop  of  Beauvais. 
*NICOLAS   LOISELEUR,  of  the  Inquisition. 

FLAW,  Governor  of  Compiegne. 

A  TAILOR. 

A   BOOTMAKER. 
*JOHN  GRIS,  an  English  gentleman. 

ADAM   GOODSPEED,  an  English  yeoman. 

AN   ENGLISH   HERALD. 

"CATHERINE  DE   LA  ROCHELLE,  ^  Ladies      of     King 
DIANE,  I      Charleses  Court  at 

ATHENIE,  J      Chinon. 

AT  ROUEN  (Only) 

BROTHER  MARTIN   LADVENU,  a  Monk. 
CAPTAIN   OF  THE    ENGLISH   GUARD. 
THREE   ENGLISH   GUARDS. 
THE   VOICE   OF   THE   JUDGE'S  CLERK. 

SERVANTS,  POPULACE,  PRIESTS,  FRIARS,  COURTIERS, 
PEASANTS,  SOLDIERS. 

NOTE.  —  Characters  marked  with  a  star  take  part  in  more  than  one  act. 


SCENES 

ACT  I 
"  The  Ladies'  Tree?  near  Domremy ;  Springtime,  1428. 

ACT  II 

The  Castle  of  King  Charles  VII,  at  Chinon;  March  8, 

ACT   III 

A  meadow  outside  the   Walls  of  Orleans-,    the  attack  on  the 
Tournelles;  May  7,  1429. 

ACT  IV 

SCENE  I.  Jeanne* s  camp  before  the  Walls  of  Troyes,  en  route 
for  Rheims ;  night  of  July  5,  1429. 

SCENE  II.  A  street  in  Rheims,  seen  from  an  old  wall  of  the 
city ;  Coronation  Pageant  of  King  Charles ;  Sun 
day,  July  17,  1429. 

ACT  V 
Jeanne^s  prison  at  Rouen ;  May  30,  1431. 


ACT   I 


ACT   I 

SCENE  :  "  The  Ladies'  Tree "  near  Domremy. 

Springtime  of  1428 ;  a  holiday  gathering  of  young  folk  from 
the  hamlet. 

The  trunk  of  the  great  beech  tree,  rising  toward  the  back  of 
the  scene,  left  centre,  spreads  its  branches  (left)  to  a 
group  of  white  birches,  in  the  half  concealment  of  which 
stands  a  stone  bench.  From  beneath  the  branches  of  the 
beech  (on  the  right),  one  looks  away  to  the  outskirts 
of  a  little  French  thatched  village,  more  guessed  than 
seen,  in  the  not-far  distance.  Almost  touching  the  tree- 
bole  (on  the  left)  stands  a  shrine,  with  a  painted  image 
of  the  Virgin. 

Near  this,  leaning  against  the  tree,  sits  a  young  man  (GERARD), 
dressed — in  part — as  a  soldier,  one  arm  and  his 
breast  being  bandaged.  He  watches  the  boys  and  girls 
dancing  a  country  round,  in  which  the  latter  carry  gar 
lands.  On  the  edge  of  the  dance  (left)  sits  a  placia 
group  of  old  women  knitting. 

The  Boys  and  Girls,  taking  respective  parts  in  voice  and 
pantomime,  sing  as  they  dance. 


2  JEANNE  &ARC 

In  green  Lorraine,  by  our  Lady's  well, 

(Rose  in  flower.) 
I  picked  a  rose  for  a  damosel ; 

(Weave  your  garlands !) 
I  bended  low  my  knee, 

Comme  $i  ! 
She  maked  courtesy, 

Comme  $a  ! 
Vivo  la  roso  et  r amour  ! 

In  green  Lorraine,  by  our  Lady's  spring, 

(Rose  in  the  hour.) 
I  dropt  within  the  rose  a  ring, 

(Fetch  your  garlands !) 
And  gave  it  her  sweetly ; 
Comme  gi  ! 
She  looked  long  on  me, 

Comme  qa  ! 
Vivo  la  roso  et  r  amour  ! 

In  green  Lorraine,  by  our  Lady's  shrine, 

(Rose  in  bower.) 
Ring  and  rose  she  named  mine ; 

(Hang  your  garlands !) 
I  threw  her  kisses  three, 
Comme  $i  ! 
She  tossed  them  back  to  me, 

Comme  $a  ! 
Vivo  la  roso  et  I  'amour  ! 

\_With  a  finale  of  tossed  kisses  and  dropt  curtsies,  the  lasses 
give  their  garlands  to  the  lads,  who  hang  them  on  the 


JEANNE  &ARC  3 

trunk  of  the  beech  tree,  after  which  all  scatter,  laughing 
and  talking,  into  groups  —  cracking  nuts,  love-making, 
playing  games.  In  one  group  (right),  playing  knuckle 
bone  on  the  grass,  is  JEANNE  D'ARC,  inconspicuous 
amongst  the  others. ~\ 

ISABELLETTE 
\To  Gerardin.1 

Mine  hangs  too  high ;  they'll  have  to  stand  tip-toe 
To  reach  it. 

GERARDIN 
Who? 

ISABELLETTE 

The  Ladies  of  Lorraine. 

GERARDIN 

But  who  — 

ISABELLETTE 

Hush,  Gerardin  ;  some  call  them  ladies, 
Some,  fairies ;  but  my  granny  says  that  they 
Long  time  ago  were  queens  in  old  Provence 
Who  fell  in  love  with  their  own  troubadours, 
And  so  were  banished  by  their  jealous  kings 
Far  northward  to  Lorraine ;  and  here,  because 
They  sorrowed  with  so  piteous  melody, 
Singing  the  dear  songs  of  their  lovers  dead, 
They  won  the  fairy's  hospitality. 

GERARDIN 

And  so  these  garlands  are  for  them  ? 


4  JEANNE  PARC 

ISABELLETTE 

Of  course ! 

HAUVIETTE 

[Dancing  before  Gerard  and  hugging  him] 
Lon  Ion,  la  la,  deri  dera ! 

GERARD 

[  With  a  twinge,  smiling  up  at  her.] 
My  arm ! 

HAUVIETTE 

My  poor  Gerard  !  —  did  she  forget  his  wounds  ? 
Ah,  naughty  gar$on,  what's  he  good  for  now  ? 
Look,  Perrin,  how  they've  hacked  my  fine  sweet  boy  - 
The  English  fiends ! 

GERARD 

Burgundians,  they  were. 

HAUVIETTE 
{To  Perrin.'] 

'Tis  six  o'  one  !     They've  chopped  him  up  so  fine 
I'm  going  to  serve  him  on  a  silver  dish 
With  lettuce  hearts  and  little  parsley  leaves  — 
Ragofit  Gerard,  avec  les  petite s  tetes  Anglaises. 

[She  laughs  merrily.] 

PERRIN 

[Aside] 

Don't,  don't,  Hauviette ;  you  know  he  may  not  live. 


JEANNE  &ARC  5 

HAUVIETTE 
{Impetuously  ^\ 

Gerard,  sweetheart !     I  love  thee  1 
{She  weeps.] 

GERARD 
[Caressing  her.~\ 

Little  swallow ! 

MENGETTE 
{To  Isabellette.~\ 
Jeannette  is  on  her  knees. 

ISABELLETTE 

Telling  her  beads  ? 

MENGETTE 
No,  playing  knucklebone  there  with  the  boys. 

ISABELLETTE 

She's  brought  her  knitting  with  her ;  think  of  it ! 

MENGETTE 
Colin  will  get  a  good  wife. 

ISABELLETTE 
{Turning  up  her  nose.] 

Colin?  — Pfui! 

PIERRE  D'ARC 

[Uncovering  his  face  by  the  tree,  shouts •.] 
Time! 
\_Huntsfor  others  who  are  playing  hide-and-seek  with  him.'] 


6  JEANNE  PARC 

TWO  GIRLS 
[Dancing  together.] 
Asuse"e !     Asuse*e ! 

GERARD 

Hauviette  — 

HAUVIETTE 

[  Opening  her  lunch  basket] 
My  fine  boy  must  not  talk ;  'tis  bad  for  him. 

GERARD 

I  think  — 

HAUVIETTE 

[Thrusting  it  into  his  mouth.] 
A  raisin ! 

GERARD 
But  — 

HAUVIETTE 

An  almond ! 

GERARD 

You  — 

HAUVIETTE 

Crack  it ! 

GERARD 
I  — 

HAUVIETTE 

Bite !  —  a  cookie. 


JEANNE  PARC  7 

GERARD 
[Incoherently^ 

Wish  — 

HAUVIETTE 

A  kiss,  then ! 
[Kisses  him  on  the  mouth.~] 

PERRIN 

[  Cracking  nuts  with  a  stone,~\ 
Heigh,  Gerardin  !     See  here  —  this  walnut. 

GERARDIN 
[Flirting  with  Isabellette.~\ 

Hein  ? 

PERRIN 

This  here's  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  —  his  skull. 

[Smashes  the  nut  loudly.  The  others  laugh  and  jeer  good- 
naturedly  at  Gerardin,  whose  proffered  arm  Isabellette 
taking,  sticks  out  her  tongue  at  them.~\ 

GERARD 

[Laughing  back  at  Perrin.~\ 
Seigneur  the  Duke  hath  brains. 

COLIN 
[Thrusting  a  walnut  between  his  jaws '.] 

I  crack  'em  —  so! 

GERARD 

[Half  rising  toward  Gerardin.~\ 
Is  he  there  —  ? 


8  JEANNE  PARC 

HAUVIETTE 

[Standing  between  them.] 
Hush! 

GERARD 

Burgundian  ? 

HAUVIETTE 
[Caressing  him.~\ 

Now,  now, 
If  you're  not  quiet  — 

GERARD 
[Sinking  back] 
Curse  him ! 

PIERRE  D'ARC 

[Creeping  stealthily  behind  Mengette,  claps  his  handover  her 

eyes.} 

Name  me ! 

MENGETTE 

Pierre ! 
[Springing  loose] 

Be  still !     Here  comes  the  Sieur  de  Bourlement. 
[General  commotion;  all  who  are  seated — save  Gerard — 
get  to  their  feet.~] 

GERARDIN 
[Shrugs  defiantly  and  makes  a  face  off  right.] 

Who? 

ISABELLETTE 

[Horror-struck  to  Gerardin] 
My  dear,  he  owns  the  Ladies'  Tree,  and  half 
The  land  of  Domremy. 


JEANNE  &ARC  9 

THE   OLD  WOMEN 
[  Under  their  breaths. ~\ 

Seigneur  de  Bourlement ! 

[Enter,  right,  DE  BOURLEMENT.  He  strolls  in  dreamily ;  in 
one  hand  a  book  ;  in  the  other,  a  walking-stick,  which  he 
twirls.'] 

DE  BOURLEMENT 

[Abstractedly^ 
Good-morrow,  dears,  good-morrow. 

ALL 

[Scatteredly,  with  bobs  and  curtsies. ,] 

Save  Seigneur ! 

DE  BOURLEMENT 

[After  a  pause,  during  which  he  reads. ~\ 
Now,  now,  my  pretties,  do  not  stand  and  stare. 
And  why  are  not  you  dancing  ?     When  I  saw 
You  lassies  twinkling  on  the  grass,  methought 
The  little  marguerites  had  learned  to  run. 
[  Twirling  his  cane  he  drops  it.    Jeanne  springs  forward 
and  lifts  */.] 

JEANNE 

Seigneur  —  your  walking-stick. 

DE  BOURLEMENT 

My  wand,  Jeannette ! 
This  is  the  month  of  May  and  I  am  Merlin. 

[  Waving  his  stick.~\ 
Ask  what  you  will,  my  lads :  'tis  granted  you. 


10  JEANNE  PARC 

COLIN 

\Awkward  and  loud.~\ 
I  want  Jeannette. 

[The  others  giggle. ~\ 

DE  BOURLEMENT 

I  grant  thee,  swain  —  to  want  her. 
[The  others  laugh  tentatively, .] 
Love,  Springtime,  laughter  —  c  est  la  poesie  ! 

COLIN 

Nay  — 

DE  BOURLEMENT 
[Sniffing  the  air.~\ 

Smell,  boy !     Smell  this  day  !  and  mark  what  myth 
Still  lurks  i'  the  nostril :  'tis  a  charmed  grotto 
Where  sleeps  a  nymph,  to  whom  a  thousand  flowers 
Make  odorous  minstrelsy ;  and  for  her  love 
The  tender  lyric  of  the  fleur-de-lys, 
The  blue-bell's  clear  chanson,  the  daisy's  ballad,  . 
Yea,  and  the  languorous  rondel  of  the  rose  — 
Are  all  respired.  —  \_Bowing.  ~\     Encore  la  poesie  ! 

COLIN 

I  want  to  wed  her. 

DE  BOURLEMENT 

Shepherd,  hast  thou  never 
Taken  a  little  walk  toward  sunset  time 
Along  the  fields  ?     One  pauses  now  and  then 
To  squint  the  lids,  and  watch  against  the  west 
The  cowslip-colour'd  light  steam  from  the  flocks 


JEANNE  PARC  II 

To  float  in  haloes  'gainst  the  quiet  clouds ; 

One  sniffs  the  spearmint  by  the  river's  brink, 

And  waits  for  dusk-fall,  and  the  twittering 

Of  swallows  overhead,  and  underneath 

The  nibbling  sound  of  half -distinguished  sheep, 

The  neatherd's  whistle  and  the  colley's  bark, 

The  vesper  bell,  and  with  that  —  voices  of  angels. 

JEANNE 

[Having  listened  rapt.'} 
Amen ! 

GERARD 
[  Who  has  heard  de  Bourlement  with  impatient  scorn,  tries 

to  rise.~\ 

And  what  of  France,  Seigneur  ? 
\_Hauviette,  frightened,  claps  her  hand  over  his  mouthJ] 

DE  BOURLEMENT 
[After  scrutiny  of  mild  surprise.] 

In  France 
The  dew  that  fills  the  lily's  cup  is  song. 

GERARD 

Song  cannot  make  us  men  in  France,  Seigneur, 
Nor  drive  the  English  bloodhounds  from  our  homes. 

HAUVIETTE 

Pardon !     Oh,  sir,  he's  very  ill. 

DE  BOURLEMENT 

Poor  boy ! 

I  wish  him  better.     Come,  my  dears.     To-day 
Is  Sunday  of  the  Wells.     Let  see  which  one 
Shall  win  the  foot-race  to  the  holy  well. 


12  JEANNE  &ARC 

THE  YOUNG  FOLK 

The  race!     Outre! 

[They  crowd  about  de  Bourlement^\ 

PERRIN 
[Seizing  Pierre."] 

Come  to  the  starting  line. 

[Preceded  by  de  Bourlement  with  his  cane,  and  followed  in 
the  rear  by  the  old  knitting-women,  exeunt  behind  the 
birches  all  but  Gerard  and  Hauviette^\ 

GERARD 

[Gloomily,  as  Hauviette  bends  over  him.~\ 
Fly  with  them,  bonny  swallow  ;  don't  wait  here 
Beating  your  slender  wings  about  my  eyes. 
You  cannot  blind  me,  dear  ;  I  see  it  well 
That  I  am  through  with  life. 

HAUVIETTE 

Tu-whit !  to-whoo ! 

His  bonny  swallow  will  peck  out  those  eyes, 
If  they  stare  so. 

GERARD 

Nay,  leave ! 

HAUVIETTE 

I  will  not  hop 


One  inch  from  him. 


VOICES 

[Shout  outside.'] 
Outre! 


JEANNE  PARC  n 

HAUVIETTE 
[Jumping  up] 

Ah,  hear  them  now ! 
Tis  the  beginning. 

GERARD 
[Sinking  back] 
And  the  ending. 

HAUVIETTE 
[Running  to  the  edge  of  the  scene] 

Oh! 

Pierre  d'Arc  has  stuck  a  rose  in  Mengette's  hair. 
She  pulled  it  out,  but  he  has  put  it  back. 
Now  they've  all  toed  the  line ;  there's  five  of  'em  : 
Perrin,  Mengette,  Pierre  d'Arc,  Jeannette,  and  Colin. 
Jeannette's  between  her  brother  and  her  sweetheart. 

A  VOICE 

[Calls  outside,  with  singing  intonation] 
Make  ready ! 

,  HAUVIETTE 

[Coming  back  to  Gerard] 
That's  the  Sieur  de  Bourlement.  —  Listen ! 

THE  VOICE 
Prepare !  — Depart ! 

HAUVIETTE 
[Rushing  back  to  the  edge  of  scene] 

Now  !  Now  they're  off ! 


14  JEANNE  PARC 

\_Hauviette  holds  herself  tensely  with  clenched  hands.  From 
outside  there  come  shouts  of  "  Perrin  !  Pierre !  Jean 
nette  !"  etc.,  presently,  in  the  distance,  sounding  only 
one  name,  "  Jeannette  "~\ 

Run!  Run! 

Perrin's  ahead.  —  Ha  !  —  Now  !  —  [Shouts']  —  Jean- 
nette  !  Jeannette  ! 

Jeannette  is  winding  him.  —  Faster,  Jeannette  ! 

Ah,  now  they're  hid  behind  the  willows.  —  Peste ! 

I  cannot  see. 

GERARD 

Run  after  them. 

HAUVIETTE 
[Stamping. ,] 

I  won't ! 

Sacre"  Maria  !      Hark  !     Jeannette  —  she's  won ! 
Thou  wretched  boy !     Why  ever  did  you  fight 
Those  English  ogres  ?     Now  thou  art  a  stump ; 
Can't   race,  can't  dance,    can't   play.     O   saints !  to 

have 

A  sweetheart  half  i'  the  grave  !  —  Darling  Gerard, 
Forgive  her !     Please  forgive  her  ! 

GERARD 
[Caressing  her,  where  she  snuggles  close  to  him.~\ 

There,  there,  there ! 

[  While  Gerard  and  Hauviette  are  absorbed  in  each  other 
thus,  boughs  of  the  shrubbery  part  noiselessly,  and  Jeanne 
breaks  upon  the  scene,  panting  and  flushed  from  running. 
Not  seeing  the  lovers  beneath  the  beech  tree,  she  seats 
herself  on  the  stone  bench,  braids  her  hair,  which  has  flown 


JEANNE  PARC  15 

loose  in  the  race,  takes  out  her  knitting,  but  lets  it  fall 
beside  her,  fixing  her  eyes  dreamily  on  the  air.  Gerard 
meantime  has  been  playfully  humming  to  Hauviette.~\ 

My  sweetheart's  a  swallow  : 
Her  sprite's 
On  wing; 

Oh,  might  I  follow 
Her  flights, 
I'd  bring 

Back  from  Heaven  the  heart  of  Spring. 

\Hauviette,  spying  Jeanne,  turns   Gerard^s  head  and  points. 

Voices  in  the  distance  call  "Jeannette!"~\ 

Jeannette  !  —  What  is  she  doing  ? 

HAUVIETTE 

Hiding  from  'em ; 
Always  she's  stealing  off  alone. 

\Speaking  lower] 

They  say 
She  talks  with  God. 

[Mischievously] 

Let's  ask  her. 

GERARD 

Don't! 

HAUVIETTE 

\Bursting  suddenly  upon  Jeanne] 

Hallo ! 

JEANNE 

[Springs  up,  startled.] 
Ha  !  bon  gr£  Dieu  ! 

\Coming  to  herself, ~\ 

No  one  but  thee,  Hauviette  ? 


16  JEANNE  PARC 

HAUVIETTE 

Me  and  Gerard.  —  What  made  you  leave  the  race  ? 

JEANNE 

[Smiling.] 
Twas  finished. 

HAUVIETTE 

But  you  won  the  prize. 

JEANNE 

[Shrugging.] 

Just  that ! 

The  Jack-o'-ninnies  fetched  a  crown  of  laurel 
To  set  upon  my  head.     [Laughing.]  Ha  !  but  St.  John  ! 
I  cut  away  into  the  underwood 
And  put  'em  off  my  track. 

HAUVIETTE 

[Seeing  Isabellette  appear  through  the  birches] 
Look  sharp,  then. 

ISABELLETTE 
[Seeing  Jeanne,  shouts  back] 

Found ! 
GERARDIN'S  VOICE 

[From  without] 
Where  is  she? 

ISABELLETTE 

Here. 

[Enter  Gerardin] 

But  hush! 
[  With  wicked  sanctimony] 

We  must  not  spoil 
Mamselle's  devotions. 


JEANNE  PARC  17 

GERARDIN 
[Making  a  mock  bow  to  Jeanne.] 

Pray,  Mamselle,  forgive 
My  rude  intrusion. 

JEANNE 
[Returning  a  mock  curtsy I\ 

Nay,  you're  welcome,  sir. 
God  puts  a  sweet  root  in  the  little  pig's  path, 
So  we're  well  met. 

GERARDIN 
[Baulked.] 

Hein  ?     Am  I  root  or  pig  ? 
[Enter  Colin  with  a  wreath  of  green  leaves.] 

COLIN 
Here  is  thy  crown,  Jeannette. 

ISABELLETTE 

Pish  !  not  that  one ! 

Run  to  the  window  of  the  kirk,  and  fetch 
Yon  little  halo  made  of  painted  glass  — 
Sky-blue  and  gold ;  she  left  it  by  mistake 
Last  time  she  prayed  there. 

HAUVIETTE 

Run,  thou  dunderhead ! 
How  shall  we  get  to  Heaven  without  Jeannette  ? 

ISABELLETTE 

Yon  keys,  that  dangle  at  her  waist,  unlock 
St.  Peter's  wicket. 


1 8  JEANNE  PARC 

COLIN 
Na ;  I  will  not  go. 

HAUVIETTE 
[  To  habelle  tte] 
I  dare  you  steal  'em. 

[Makes  a  dash  at  Jeanne's  keys] 

JEANNE 
[Catching  ffauvie  tte' s  hand  powerfully  with  her  left,  laughs. ~] 

If  you  poke  more  fun 
I'll  have  your  noses  all !     One,  two,  three,  four ! 

[Snatching  at  their  faces  with   her  right  hand,  she  criss 
crosses  the  thumb,  child-fashion.] 

Now  you'll  not  hold  'em  in  the  air  so  high. 

HAUVIETTE 
[Shaking  Jeanne.] 
Wicked  Jeannette !     She  won't  be  teased. 

ISABELLETTE 
[To  Jeanne.] 

But  tell! 
What  made  you  run  away  alone  ? 

JEANNE 
[Diffidently] 

To  listen. 

ISABELLETTE 

Listen  !  —  for  what  1 


JEANNE  PARC  19 

GERARDIN 

What  did  you  hear  ? 

JEANNE 
[  Very  quietly. ~\ 

Let's  go. 
\_As  she  moves  away,  the  others  exchange  nods  and  shrugs^ 

COLIN 

Eh !  what  said  I  —  'twas  them  !    They  be  her  friends 
And  keep  her  company. 

JEANNE 
[Turns  wonderinglyl\ 

Who  are  my  friends  ? 

COLIN 

The  lady  wood-folk :  I  ha'  seen  'em  with  'ee 
Many's  the  chance  at  sundown. 

ISABELLETTE 

Seen  them  with  her  ? 

HAUVIETTE 
What —  speaking  ? 

c 

COLIN 

Like  as  though. 

ISABELLETTE 

At  sundown  ? 


COLIN 
[Nodding.'] 


Darkish. 


20  JEANNE  &ARC 

HAUVIETTE 

Where  ? 

COLIN 

Here,  beside  their  tree. 

JEANNE 

Thou  art  wrong,  Colin. 

"Pis  well  to  know  that  since  the  good  priest  read 
The  gospel  of  St.  John  beneath  these  boughs, 
There  are  no  fairies  more  in  Domremy. 

ISABELLETTE 

O  pf ui ! 

HAUVIETTE 
[To  Jeanne.'] 
You  don't  believe  ?  —  But  Colin  saw ! 

JEANNE 

Saw  moonshine !  —  I  believe  my  own  good  eyes 
And  ears.     /  never  saw  nor  heard  them. 

COLIN 

Eh! 

Thy  father  saith  how  folk  what's  spoken  to 
By  fairies  knoweth  naught  of  it ;  but  getteth 
Gifties  most  wonderful. 

ISABELLETTE 

Aha !     That's  why 
He  wants  to  marry  thee,  Jeannette. 

COLIN 

[Eagerly.] 

Aye,  that's ! 
[  Voices  shout  outside,  amidst  laughter.] 


JEANNE  PARC  21 

GERARDIN 

Hark  there !    Come  on !   We're  missing  all  the  game. 

HAUVIETTE 
[  Clasping  her  hands.] 
Ah  me !  if  only  I  could  go ! 

ISABELLETTE 
\Pulling  Hauviette1  s  sleeve  as  she  passes] 

Come,  too ! 
[Aft] 

[As  Gerardin  is  hastening  out,  Gerard — with  a  great 
effort  —  lifting  his  sword  in  its  scabbard,  flings  it 
clattering  in  front  of  Gerardin,  who  starts  back] 

GERARD 
[Bitterly] 
Burgimdian ! 

GERARDIN 
You  dropt  this  sword  ? 

GERARD 

I  flung  it 
In  challenge,  sir. 

GERARDIN 

Bah !     I'm  no  corpse-killer. 
[Exit] 

HAUVIETTE 
[Exasperated.] 
Stupid  Gerard ! 


22  JEANNE  PARC 

JEANNE 
\Bcnding  over  Gerard ;  to  Hauviettel\ 

Fetch  him  some  water;  go. 
I'll  stay  with  him. 

[  Voices  shout  outside.~\ 

HAUVIETTE 
\_Calling  gay ly.~\ 
I'm  coming ! 
\Tossing  Gerard  a  kiss.~\ 

Silly  boy ! 

[Pulling  Colin   after  her,  exit  Hauviette.    Jeanne,  lifting 
Gerard's  sword  reverently,  places  it  by  the  tree.~\ 

GERARD 
\_Amazed.~\ 
My  sword  —  your  lips  have  touched  it ! 

JEANNE 

God  himself 
Hath  fought  with  it  for  France. 

GERARD 

/  fought  with  it ! 

JEANNE 

And  God  did  clasp  His  fingers  over  thine 
Along  the  hilt.     Whoso  hath  fought  for  France 
Hath  fought  for  Him. 

GERARD 

Jeannette  !  you  knew,  then,  why 
I  flung  it  there  !     You  knew  ? 


JEANNE  PARC  23 

JEANNE 

Full  well,  my  friend. 

GERARD 
None  other  knew. 

JEANNE 

None  here  besides  hath  been 
Into  the  battle. 

GERARD 

Never  you  have  been. 

JEANNE 

Ah  me,  Gerard,  so  often  have  I  gone 
Amongst  the  armed  men,  methinks  I  scarce 
Have  stayed  at  home. 

GERARD 

You  saw  the  fighting  ?     When  ? 

JEANNE 

Between  the  shearing  and  the  shearing. 

GERARD 

Where? 

JEANNE 

Out  there  —  beyond  :  in  the  wide  land  beyond  ! 
And  there  were  thousands  flashing  in  the  sun 
Beneath  dark  walls  and  mighty  battlements, 
And  all  their  shining  limbs  were  stiff  with  steel ; 
And  rank  by  rank  they  rattled  as  they  marched, 
But  each  half  hid  his  neighbour  with  his  shield 
Like  soldiers  in  the  chapel-window  glass  ; 


24  JEANNE  PARC 

And  I  rode  with  them,  clad  in  silver  mail 
From  heel  to  head,  upon  a  snow-white  horse, 
And  all  my  oriflammes  were  painted  fair 
With  lilies  and  the  Rising  of  our  Lord ; 
For  we  were  marching,  midst  the  roar  of  bells, 
Towards  a  great  cathedral. 

GERARD 

But  you  dreamed ! 

JEANNE 
[  Changing^ 

Once  in  the  midnight,  when  I  saw  them  sleeping 
After  the  battle,  in  the  still  moonshine 
Their  linked  armour  lay  beside  them,  sloughed 
Like  adder  skins ;  and  where  the  living  slept, 
Their  bright  breaths  rose  like  candle  mist,  but  on 
The  dead  the  dews  fell. 

GERARD 

How  saw  you  these  sights  ? 

JEANNE 

Sometimes  I  see  them  very  small  and  bright, 

As  if  they  were  inlaid  in  smooth  enamel 

Like  wish-stones  in  my  godfather's  thumb-ring. 

Sometimes  I  gaze  at  them  as  through  clear  water, 

That  moves  between  us,  blurring  the  deep  colours 

With  skeins  of  silver  when  the  wind  blows.     Ah ! 

But  tell  me  of  the  wars  which  you  have  seen. 

I  have  great  pity  for  the  land  of  France. 

Tell  me  —  for  you  have  fought  —  what  of  the  wars  ? 


JEANNE  PARC  2$ 

VOICES 

[Outside t  amid  laughter. ~\ 
Vivo  la  roso  ! 

GERARD 
[  Glooming.~\ 

Will  you  not  go  —  play  ? 

JEANNE 
[  Smiling ^\ 
Now  think  ye  they  are  sighing  for  me  ? 

[Adjusting  his  cloak  as  a  back  rest.] 

Move 
A  little ;  so  is  better  ? 

GERARD 

It  is  better. 
You  asked  —  what  of  the  wars  ? 

JEANNE 

Thou  art  still  in  pain. 
GERARD 

Not  now ;  my  body's  pain  is  strangely  numb,  — 
What  of  the  wars  ?     Thou  knowest  the  bitter  news : 
The  English  are  flooded  up  like  the  North  Sea 
Over  the  fields  of  France,  where  all  the  land 
Southward  to  Orleans  drowns  with  them,  and  all 
The  men  of  France,  like  moles  and  field-mice,  creep 
Under  the  bloodied  furrows. 

JEANNE 

Orleans  stands ! 

GERARD 

Yes ;  stands  like  a  strong  headland  in  their  tide 
And  will  not  crumble.     Orleans  only  stands 


26  JEANNE  PARC 

Between  the  English  army  and  King  Charles. 
Yet  soon  must  also  Orleans  fall,  and  then  — 
What  hope  then  for  the  King  ? 

JEANNE 

God  fights  for  him. 

GERARD 

They  say  that  he  is  poor  and  hath  few  friends, 
And  daily  those  desert  him,  taunting  him 
That  he  hath  never  been  crowned. 

JEANNE 

He  shall  be  crowned. 

GERARD 

And  Burgundy  the  Duke,  the  one  strong  man 
Whose  right  arm  should  have  struck  for  France,  now 

fights 

For  England  and  the  taste  of  English  gold.  — 
O  God !     Jeannette,  if  thou  hadst  fought  for  France, 
Now  mightest  thou  feel  what  'tis  of  bitterness 
To  close  my  eyes  and  go  down  in  the  dark, 
Knowing  that  even  this  dust  of  me  must  change 
Into  a  little  heap  of  English  earth. 

JEANNE 

Gerard  !  —  and  you  must  die  ? 

GERARD 

Last  night,  the  doctor 

Went  from  my  door  to  Jacques-the-gravedigger's  ; 
To-day  they  fetched  me  here  with  garlands. 


JEANNE  &ARC  27 

\Rising  slowly  to  her  feet,  Jeanne  holds  in  her  left  hand 
Gerard's  sword,  and  raising  her  right  as  one  taking  a 
martial  oath,  speaks  with  dreamy  fervour •.] 

JEANNE 

Listen ! 

Between  Coussy  and  Vaucouleurs  there  lives 
A  girl,  that,  ere  the  year  is  gone,  shall  save 
The  land  of  France,  and  consecrate  King  Charles. 

GERARD 

A  girl !  — between  Coussy  and  Vaucouleurs  ? 
That's  here  in  Domremy. 

JEANNE 

Have  you  not  heard 

How  long  ago  'twas  spoken,  "  Out  of  Lorraine, 
Beside  the  Ladies'  Tree,  shall  come  a  maid  — 
Saviour  of  France  "  ? 

GERARD 

This  is  the  Ladies'  Tree ! 

JEANNE 
And  truly  was  it  spoken.  —  I  am  the  Maid. 

GERARD 

Jeannette ! 

JEANNE 

It  hath  been  told  me. 

GERARD 

Who  hath  told  ? 


28  JEANNE  PARC 

JEANNE 

The  Lord  hath  sent  His  angel,  even  St.  Michael, 
To  me,  Jeannette. 

GERARD 

Thou  hast  beheld  him  ? 

JEANNE 

Yes. 

GERARD 

And  heard  him  speak  ? 

JEANNE 
Often. 

GERARD 

When  was  this  ? 

JEANNE 

First 

Four  years  ago.     '  Twas  in  my  father's  garden ; 
I  was  then  but  thirteen ;  I  heard  his  voice. 
It  was  mid-day,  in  summer  ;  I  was  frightened. 
I  had  not  fasted  on  the  day  before. 
A  little  to  my  right,  towards  the  church, 
I  heard  it ;  on  one  side  there  shone  a  light. 

GERARD 

What !  —  in  the  noon  time  ? 

JEANNE 

Yes ;  a  burning  light. 
It  dazzled  me ;  and  then  I  saw  his  face. 

GERARD 
Alone  ? 


JEANNE  &ARC  29 

JEANNE 

It  was  surrounded  all  with  angels, 
That  glittered  like  the  little  poplar  leaves 
Behind  our  barn. 

GERARD 

You  saw  them  bodily  ? 

JEANNE 

I  saw  them  with  these  eyes  as  clearly  as 

I  see  you  there.     Just  then  the  mass  bell  rung, 

And  then  St.  Michael  spoke. 

GERARD 

Mind  you  what  words  ? 

JEANNE 

He  said :  "  Jeanne  d'Arc,  thy  Lord  hath  chosen  thee 
To  save  the  land  of  France.     When  I  am  gone, 
St.  Catherine  will  come  and  Margaret, 
His  saints,  to  counsel  thee." 

GERARD 

More  did  he  say  ? 
JEANNE 

"  Be  good  and  wait,"  he  said ;  and  then  once  more 
"  Be  a  good  girl,  Jeannette,"  he  said  ;  and  so 
He  and  his  angels  went  away,  and  I 
Wept,  for  I  would  have  liked  to  go  with  them. 

GERARD 

St.  Catherine  and  Margaret  —  they  came  ? 

JEANNE 
Often  they  come. 


30  JEANNE  D^ARC 

GERARD 

You  have  seen  them  also  ? 

JEANNE 

Yes; 

But  oftenest  I  hear  them  speak ;  I  call  them 
"  My  Voices,"  and  I  hear  them  when  the  bells 
Are  ringing  —  more  at  Matins  and  at  Vespers 
Than  other  hours.     At  first  they  counselled  me 
But  to  be  good,  and  to  prepare  myself 
Against  St.  Michael's  coming.     But  of  late 
They  have  forewarned  me  I  must  go  to  raise 
The  siege  of  Orleans  and  have  crowned  the  Dauphin. 

GERARD 
{Ardently^ 
For  what,  then,  dost  thou  wait,  Jeannette  ? 

JEANNE 

St.  Michael, 
His  coming. 

GERARD 

Ah  !  and  will  he  come  again 
Before  —  I  go  ? 

JEANNE 

My  Voices  warn  me  oft 
That  he  at  any  moment  may  appear 
And  bid  me  go  unto  Chinon,  the  Castle 
Of  Charles  the  Dauphin,  and  make  known  to  him 
My  mission  from  our  Lord. 

GERARD 

He  will  believe ! 
Jeannette,  he  will  believe,  as  I !  —  O  France, 


JEANNE  D^ARC  31 

Out  of  Lorraine  hath  come  the  Lord  His  maid 
To  succour  thee  in  thy  death  peril ! 

JACQUES  D'ARC 
[His  voice  heard  outside  —  left] 

Colin  ! 
JEANNE 

My  father  !     Tell  him  not.     I  have  not  leave 
To  tell  yet  what  I  know.     You  I  have  told, 
For  you  must  soon  go  hence  before  my  saints, 
And  will  explain  my  trespass. 

GERARD 

I  will  tell  them 

How  you  revealed  their  secret  to  one  dead 
And  made  him  happy. 

JEANNE 
[Watching  her  father  approach  outside.] 

He  would  grieve,  besides, 
And  rage,  and  would  not  let  me  leave  him. 
[Enter  Jacques  d'Arc  and  Colin.] 

Hush! 
JACQUES 

[To  Colin.] 
Round  up  the  sheep  with  me. 

COLIN 
[Follows  slowly] 

Where  keepst  thy  dog  ? 

JACQUES 
Suckleth  her  whelps  at  home.     Hark  yonder  !  Yon's 


32  JEANNE  D^ARC 

The  bell-wether,  hath  jumped  the  pound.  — Good  e'en, 
Jeannette.     Aye,  knitting,  hein  ? 

JEANNE 

God  give  good  e'en. 
JACQUES 

What  for  not  making  holiday  ?     Tis  Sabbath ; 
Seigneur  himself  walks  yon  with  the  young  folk ; 
And  Colin  there  clapt  to  't  with  another  sweetheart,  — 
Ah,  Colin  ? 

COLIN 
[Jerking  his  thumb  at  Jeanne  and  Gerard."] 

She  would  browse  with  the  lame  sheep. 

JACQUES 
\_To  Jeanne. ~\ 

What  for  with  him  ? 

GERARD 

She  asked  me  of  the  wars. 
JACQUES 
The   wars?     Hark   here,    lass.     Drop   that   gabble; 

drop  't, 

I  warn  thee,  down  the  nighest  well  and  bury  't. 
No  maid  o'  mine  shall  gossip  o'  the  wars 
With  any  man.  —  And  hast  forgot  my  dream, 
Jeannette? 

JEANNE 

No. 

JACQUES 

Ofttime  dreams  be  perilous. 
I  saw  thee  in  my  dream  fighting  for  France, 
And  thou  wert  bleeding  at  the  breast.     May  God 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  33 

Forgi'e  't  me !  —  Ere  thou  went  to  war,  Jeannette, 
I'd  have  thy  brothers  drown  thee. 

\_Turns  away,  speaking  to  Colin.~\ 

Where's  thy  staff  ? 
COLIN 

Over  against  the  sheep-pound. 

\_There  run   in   Hauviette,  Mengette,   Pierre,  Ferrin,  and 
Others. ,] 
PERRIN 

Fetch  Gerard ! 

JACQUES 
{To  Colin.'} 

Come  !  —  Wait  for  me,  Jeannette ;  we'll  home  with  'ee. 
\_ExeuntJacques  and  Colin,  right.~\ 

HAUVIETTE 
Gerard,  Gerard,  three  kisses  !     Then  up,  up ! 

GERARD 

Where  is  the  swallow  flying  ! 

HAUVIETTE 

With  the  flock 
Of  course. 

MENGETTE 

You're  coming  with  us  ? 

PIERRE 

To  be  cured. 

HAUVIETTE 

We're  going  to  the  well  of  thorns ;  Seigneur 
Is  waiting  for  us.     'Tis  a  sacred  well, 

D 


34  JEANNE  D^ARC 

And  filled  with  holy  water  to  the  brim ; 
And  when  you  drink  of  it,  you  will  be  cured. 

PIERRE 

Make  him  a  chair. 

SEVERAL  OTHERS 

A  chair ! 

[Pierre  and  another  lad  by  interlacing  their  hands  form  a  seat 
into  which  Gerard  is  raised."] 

PERRIN 

Now  up  with  him  ! 

[Lifted  by  the  two  lads,  Gerard  is  carried  off,  surrounded  by 
the  others  shouting.~\ 

GERARD 

[From  his  chair  of  hands ^\ 
Good-by,  Jeannette ;  I'm  going  to  be  cured. 

JEANNE 

[  Waves  to  him^\ 
Adieu,  Gerard ! 

THE  OTHERS 
[  Going  out.~] 
Outre"!     Gerard!  Gerard! 

JEANNE 

[To  Perrin,  as  he  is  leaving  with  the  others. ~\ 
Perrin  ! 

[Perrin  pauses  and  looks  at  Jeanne,  who  shakes  her  finger 
at  him  with  a  grave  smile.  He  drops  his  eyes,  con 
fused.'} 


JEANNE  D  ''ARC  3 5 

PERRIN 
But  'tisn't  late. 

JEANNE 

The  sky's  all  pink 
And  gold  behind  the  bell-tower. 

[Turning  him  toward  the  shrine. ~\ 

Naughty  Perrin ! 

What  will  Our  Lady  say,  who  leaneth  there 
And  listeneth  for  her  Vesper  bell,  and  heareth 
Perrin  at  play. 

PERRIN 

I  cannot  ring  just  yet. 

The  others  — 

JEANNE 

[  Thrusting  her  knitting  into  his  hands."] 

Here's  a  mitten  ;  'tis  of  wool. 
I'll  knit  thee  its  fellow  before  Michaelmas 
If  thou  wilt  run  fast  to  the  kirk,  and  ring 
The  bell. 

PERRIN 

Our  Lady  shall  not  scold,  then.  —  Mind, 
Thou'lt  knit  me  t'other  mitten  ? 

JEANNE 

I  have  promised. 

[Perrin  runs  off  toward  Domremy.  Jeanne •,  going  slowly  to 
the  Ladies^  Tree,  leans  against  the  trunk,  and  stands 
looking  westward  toward  the  town.  As  she  does  so, 
there  rises  — faint  but  close  by,  through  the  falling  twi 
light —  a  music  of  sweet  voices,  singing  to  the  old  French 
ballad-melody  these  words,  softly  distinguishable^ 


36  JEANNE  D^ARC 

THE  TWILIGHT  VOICES 
Derrier'  chez  mon  pere, 

(Vole,  vole,  mon  coeur  vole  !) 
Derrier'  chez  mon  pere 

Y'a  un  pommier  doux : 
Tout  doux  —  et  iou ! 
Tout  doux  —  et  iou ! 
Y'a  un  pommier  doux. 

Trois  belles  princesses 

(Vole,  vole,  mon  coeur,  vole  !) 
Trois  belles  princesses 
Sont  assis  dessous : 

Tout  doux  —  et  iou ! 
Tout  doux  — et  iou ! 
Sont  assis  dessous. 

Ca  dit  la  premiere,  vole,  etc. 
Je  crois  qu'il  fait  jour. 

Ca  dit  la  seconde  —  etc. 

i 

J'entends  le  tambour. 

[Jeanne,  pensive,  does  not  hear  the  melody,  nor  observe  how 
near  her,  from  amid  the  obscurity  of  the  birch  trees,  there 
emerge  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  LADIES  OF  LORRAINE. 
Each  of  these  peers  forth  from  her  own  bush  or  birch  or 
flowering  shrub,  to  which  her  garb  —  with  its  long  green 
veil  and  flowing  forest  gown  —  approximates  in  tone  and 
design}  Each  wears  a  crown  and  has  an  air  at  once 
queenly  and  sylvanl\ 

1  Thus  the  veil  of  the  Lady  of  the  Flowering  Thorn  is  embroidered 
all  with  thorn  blossoms;  the  gown  of  the  Lady  of  the  Aspen  twinkles 
and  shivers  with  little  leaves. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  37 

THE  LADIES  OF  LORRAINE 

[Continuing."] 

Ca  dit  la  troisieme —  etc. 
C'est  mon  ami  doux. 

II  va-t-a  la  guerre  —  etc. 
Combattre  pour  nous. 

[Ceasing,  none  of  the  Ladies  entirely  dissociates  herself 
from  her  bush  or  tree,  but  peering  forward,  all  together, 
they  lift  from  their  brows,  and  hold  aloft  with  their  right 
hands,  their  crowns  and  fillets  and  therewith  lay  a  spell 
upon  Jeanne,  who  —  outwardly  oblivious  of  their  pres 
ence — yet  is  felt  to  soliloquize  under  their  influence,  not 
beginning  to  speak  until  they  appear,  and  ceasing  simul 
taneous  with  their  abrupt  departure.  ~\ 

JEANNE 

{By  the  Ladies'1  Tree.~] 

How  happily  doth  all  the  world  go  home  ! 
The  bee  hath  left  the  shutting  marguerite 
To  dust  his  wings  at  Pierrot's  garden-door 
And  hum  all  night  to  drowsy  chanticleer ; 
The  rooks  are  whirling  to  the  nested  eaves.  — 
Thou  little  darling  town  of  Domremy, 
Good  night !     Thou  winkest  with  thy  lids  of  vines, 
And  layest  down  within  the  golden  stream 
Thy  yellow  thatches  and  thy  poplars  pale ; 
And  thou,  too,  art  upgathered  in  home-fields  ; 
But  thy  Jeannette  must  pass  away  from  thee. 
For  He  who  once  disdained  not  to  stay 
His  wandering  star  o'er  tiny  Bethlehem 
Hath,  in  His  love  of  France,  sent  unto  thee 


38  JEANNE  D^ ARC 

His  shining  messengers  to  fetch  thy  Maid. 

0  little  town,  hush  still  thy  breath  and  hark ! 
Amid  thy  narrow  streets  are  angels  arming, 
And  o'er  thy  steeping-stones  immortal  feet 
Are  bearing  light  the  undying  fleur-de-lis ; 
And  from  thy  roofs  clear  horns-of-Paradise 

Are  blowing  wide  unto  the  zenith  :   Hearken  !  — 

Who  shall  withstand  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  or  who 

Defy  His  power  ?     The  horses  of  the  Lord 

Are  neighing,  terrible ;  His  chariots 

Of  thunder  crash  in  darkness,  and  the  voice 

Calleth  of  His  Archangel  from  the  battle  : 

"Vive  la  France!     Victoire  !     La  France  sauvee  !  " 

JACQUES  D'ARC 

[  Outside.'] 
Along !     Along ! 

[  The  Ladies  vanish  in  the  foliage.  Jeanne  stands  as  in  a 
trance.  Enter  right  Jacques,  grasping  by  the  wrist 
Colin,  who  holds  back,  quaking.^ 

Where  be  they  ?     Show  me  where  ? 

COLIN 

Na,  na;    I'll   not  come   nigh    her.     They   be   gone 
Inside. 

JACQUES 

Inside  o'  what? 

COLIN 

The  bark  and  roots  : 

1  saw  them  yonder  lifting  o'  their  veils. 

JACQUES 

Where? 


JEANNE  D^ARC  39 

\_Colin  points. ~\ 
Those  be  birches. 

COLIN 

Ladies  were  they  then, 
And  peered  and  peeped  at  her. 
JACQUES 

At  who  ? 
COLIN 

Jeannette ; 
I'll  not  come  nigh  her. 

JACQUES 
[  Visibly  affected,  yet  will  not  show  it  to  Colin.~\ 

Pfah !     Thou  hast  such  visions 
As  Pertelote,  our  hen :  spyeth  the  moon, 
And  cackleth  she  hath  laid  our  Lord  an  egg.  — 
Jeannette  o'  mine,  come  hither. 

JEANNE 
[Breaking from  her  revery,  goes  impetuously  to  his  armsJ] 

Papa  Jacques ! 
JACQUES 

[Embracing  her  tenderly,  looks  toward  the  birches, .] 
Th'  art  a  good  lass,  Jeannette.     I  spake  thee  harsh 
Awhile  since. 

JEANNE 

Will  I  scold  thee  for  it  now  ? 

JACQUES 

A  good  lass  was  thou  always; — but  some  stubborn. 

JEANNE 

Like  Papa  Jacques  ? 

[Kisses  him."} 


40  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JACQUES 

Aye,  Jacques  d'Arc  hath  a  will. 
Th'  art  come  short-cut  thereby  !     But  hark'ee,  girl ! 
Shut  mouth  catches  no  flies.  —  I'll  have  thee  speak 
No  more  o'  the  wars.  —  What  say  ?     I'll  have  thee  be 
Like  other  village  maid-folk  —  light  o'  heart, 
Merry  to  love.  —  Eh,  not  ? —  I'll  have  thee  wed, 
And  keep  thy  goodman's  sheep-farm  next  to  mine. 
Come  now :  What  say  to  Colin  ? 

JEANNE 

Tis  a  good  lad. 

JACQUES 

St.  John  !     'Tis  a  good  answer.     Once  again  ! 
What  say  to  speak  him  troth  now  —  man  and  maid  ? 

JEANNE 

I  may  not  speak  my  troth  to  any  man. 

JACQUES 

May  not!     May  not !     Who's  thy  new  master,  sith 
Thy  father  died  ?     Who  hath  forbade  thee  speak  ? 
Well,  well ;  let  be  !     Thou  needst  not  speak  thy  troth. 
Look :  yonder,  Colin  holds  his  sheep-staff  out 
Toward  thee  ;  take  it,  lass,  and  nothing  spoke  — 
In  token  of  thy  trothal. 

[Jeanne,  gazing  apparently  at   Colin,    clasps  suddenly  her 
hands  in  awe,  and  makes  a  humble  reverence .] 

JEANNE 

Monseigneur ! 
Thy  maid  is  ready. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  41 

JACQUES 
[  Who  has  turned  away.~\ 

Take  't  and  come  along. 

JEANNE 
\_To  Jacques. ~\ 
What  is  that  which  you  see  held  forth  to  me  ? 

JACQUES 

Seest  well  thyself  'tis  Colin's  staff.      What  for 
Art  staring  ? 

JEANNE 

Tis  exceeding  beautiful 
In  glory  and  in  power ;  its  handle  gleams 
Bright  as  the  cross  of  jewels  at  the  mass, 
And  oh,  its  sheath  is  like  an  altar-candle. 
[In  the  distance  a  bell  begins  to  ring  slowly.    Jacques  bows 
his  head.     Colin,  awed  by  Jeanne's  words  and  expres 
sion,  thrusts  the  staff  upright  in  the  earth  and  steps 
back  a  pace  from  it,  superstitious ly.~\ 

JACQUES 

[Crossing  himself. ~\ 
The  Vespers. 

JEANNE 

[Sinking  to  her  knees. ~\ 
Monseigneur ! 

\At  this  moment  in  the  air  beside  Colin  appears  the  glorified 
form  of  ST.  MICHAEL.  Shepherd  and  Archangel  stand 
contrasted,  yet  alike  in  posture,  looking  toward  Jeanne^ 

JACQUES 

Up,  lass!     What  aileth  ? 
Wilt  take  the  sheep-crook  ? 


42  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JEANNE 

Wilt  thou  have  me  take 
What  in  the  turf  stands  yonder  ? 

JACQUES 

In  God's  name ! 

JEANNE 

In  God's  name,  then,  I  take  it. 

{Reaching  out,  she  pauses  and  draws  back  —  her  face  lifted 
to  St.  Michael's  — as,   in  the  cadence  of   the  bell,  he 

speaks.] 

ST.  MICHAEL 

[Slowly  extending  his  hand] 

Jeanne  the  Maid, 

Behold  the  staff  I  bring  thee  is  my  sword. 
[Lightly  laying  his  hand  upon  the  staff,  instantaneously  his 
touch  transforms  it  to  a  perpendicular  sword,  its  point 
piercing  the  turf,  its  cross-formed  handle  and  its  sheath 
glowing  with  variegated  fire] 

Take  it  in  vow  of  thy  virginity, 

And  to  perform  the  bidding  of  thy  Lord  — 

That  thou,  in  armour  girded  as  a  man 

Shalt  go  to  raise  at  Orleans  the  great  siege, 

And  after,  crown  the  Dauphin,  Charles  of  France, 

Anointed  King  at  Rheims. 

COLIN 
[Pointing] 

The  crook,  Jeannette ! 
Take  it  in  troth. 

ST.  MICHAEL 

[Pointing] 
Take  it  in  troth,  Jeanne  d'Arc. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  43 

JEANNE 

In  God  His  name,  I  take  it  as  from  Him 
To  whom  my  vow  is  given. 

{Extending  her  hand,  Jeanne  touches  the  sword;  then  bows 
her  head  as  St.  Michael  disappears^ 

JACQUES 

So  ;  she  hath  touched 

Thy  staff  in  trothal,  lad.     Now  home  with  ye 
Together. 

COLIN 

Come,  Jeannette. 

JEANNE 

First,  I  will  pray. 

JACQUES 
[Aside  to  Colin.'] 
The  Vespers  !  —  Come  along.  —  She'll  follow  us. 

COLIN 

[Going  out,  sings. ~\ 
Sith  for  Charity 

My  love  her  troth  me  gave, 
My  troth  hath  she 

I  her  have. 

[Exit  Colin.  Jacques,  looking  back  at  Jeanne,  crosses  him 
self,  muttering,  and  exit.  Twilight  deepens.  Blending 
with  the  tones  of  the  chapel  bell  are  heard  two  Voices^ 

THE  FIRST  VOICE 

Jeanne  d'Arc! 

JEANNE 
[Calling^ 
St.  Margaret ! 


44  JEANNE  D^ARC 

THE  SECOND  VOICE 

Jeanne  la  Pucelle ! 

JEANNE 

St.  Catherine ! 

THE  TWO  VOICES 
Daughter  of  God,  go  forth  ! 

[Jeanne,  on  the  turf,  kneels  before  the  cross  of  the  shining 
sword.      Vespers  continue  to  ring.] 


ACT   II 


ACT  II 

SCENE:  The  Castle  of  Chinon.     March  8, 1429. 

An  audience -hall,  sparsely  furnished  with  an  indigent  mag 
nificence. 

The  chief  entrance  at  back  is  in  the  centre.  On  the  right  of 
this  an  ornate  clock,  with  chimes.  On  the  left,  high  in 
the  wall,  a  stained-glass  window  depicts  the  Emperor 
Charlemagne,  with  the  shield  of  France,  holding  a 
crown.  Against  the  left  wall,  a  throne-chair  with 
canopy;  in  the  right  wall,  a  fireplace  with  chimney-seat. 
At  the  oblique  angle  of  the  right  and  back  walls,  a  stair 
way  descends  from  a  colonnade,  partly  visible  without. 

The  scene,  opening,  discovers  KING  CHARLES  seated  on  an 
arm  of  the  throne-chair,  with  one  foot  on  the  seat,  the 
other  crossed  over  his  knee.  Round  his  neck,  behind, 
is  hung  a  placard,  lettered  in  red  and  gold : 

LE  ROI 
DAGOBERT 

C'EST    MOI 

He  is  surrounded  by  LADIES  of  the  Court,  who  are  merrily 
shouting  a  song,  whilst  they  watch  the  royal  TAILOR, 
who  bends  assiduously  over  the  King's  crossed  leg,  ply 
ing  his  thread  and  needle.  Beside  him. stands  his  spool- 
and-shears  basket. 

Apart  from  these,  at  a  table  near  the  fire,  are  seated  LA 
TREMOUILLE  and  DE  CHARTRES.  The  former  is  busily 
engaged  in  looking  over  a  pile  of  parchments.  From 
time  to  time  he  is  approached  with  great  reverence  by 
servants  and  courtiers. 

45 


46  JEANNE  D^ARC 

THE   LADIES 

[Sing  to  the  old  ballad-tune. ~\ 
Twas  good  King  Dagobert 
His  breeches  wrong-side-out  did  wear. 
Quoth  his  Master  of  Stitches  : 
"Your  Majesty's  breeches, 
To  put  it  mild  strongly, 
Are  put  on  well  wrongly." 
"  Eh  bien !  "  the  King  he  cried, 
"Just  wait  and  I'll  turn  'em  right  side." 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  VENDOME,  the  Chamberlain^ 
This  seal  to  the  Receiver-General ; 
These  parchments  to  the  Treasurer  of  War. 

THE  LADIES 
God  save  King  Dagobert ! 

THE  TAILOR 

Good  Majesty 
Doth  wear  the  seam  outside. 

CHARLES 

Why  not,  old  Stitches  ? 
I'll  set  the  fashion  so ;  I  am  chafed  too  long 
With  wearing  o'  the  seamy-side  within. 

CATHERINE 
[Aside  to  DIANE.] 

Still  munching  the  old  cud  of  melancholy  — 
His  mother. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  47 

DIANE 
Why  his  mother  ? 

CATHERINE 

Shh !     They  say 
She  called  him  — 

DIANE 

Hein? 

CATHERINE 

They  spell  it  with  a  "b." 

ATHENIE 

Imperial  Dagobert,  permit  thy  slave 
To  be  thy  needle-woman. 

CATHERINE 

Nay,  let  me ; 
My  silk  is  threaded. 

DIANE 

'Twere  a  thousand  pities 
To  wholly  sheathe  so  glorious  a  sword  ! 
[Touching  the  King's  leg.~\ 

Is  it  of  gold  ? 

CHARLES 

Ah,  lady,  would  it  were, 
And  I  would  lend  it  out  at  usury 
To  line  your  purse  withal. — Alas,  madame, 
'Tis  a  poor  limb  charr'd  with  celestial  fire. 
[  Waves  her  back.~\ 

CATHERINE 

Ladies,  we  may  not  look.     We  must  content 
Our  souls  with  incense  of  the  burning  thigh. 


48  JEANNE  D^ARC 

DE  CHARTRES 

[Zb  La  Tremouille,  amid  the  Ladies'  laughter. ~\ 
Is  it  possible  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

They  are  his  only  pair ; 

The  rest  he  pawned  this  morning.     These  being  torn, 
He  calls  the  tailor  and  commands  the  ladies 
To  acclaim  him  as  King  Dagobert. 

DE   CHARTRES 

What  for? 

LA  TREMOUILLE  , 

For  novelty.     One  day  he'll  hang  himself 
For  novelty. 

THE   TAILOR 

Your  Majesty  is  mended. 

CHARLES 

Approach,  mesdames,  and  view  the  royal  patch. 

ATHENIE 

But  where  ? 

CATHERINE 

I  cannot  see  it. 
CHARLES 

Even  so ! 

Your  patch  is  virtue's  own  epitome, 
The  smooth'd-up  leak  in  honour's  water-mark, 
The  small  fig-leaf  that  shadows  Paradise, 
The  tiny  seal  of  time  and  turpitude. 
Which  for  to  prove,  sweet  dames,  bethink  you  how 
The  great  Achilles  —  he  who  fought  and  sulked 


JEANNE  D'ARC  49 

Outside  the  walls  of  Troy  —  was  once  a  babe, 
(Babes  will  occur,  mesdames !)  and  had  a  mother 
(The  best  of  us  have  mothers,  though  not  all 
Be  goddesses).     His  mother  was  called  Thetis, 
And  when  she  dipped  him  in  the  immortal  wave, 
She  held  him  by  the  heel  —  thus  —  thumb  and  finger, 
That  ever  afterward  upon  the  heel 
He  wore  a  patch  —  a  little  viewless  patch, 
Whereby  he  came  to  dust.     The  moral's  plain : 
A  little  patch  is  greater  than  a  god, 
And  therefore  this  your  prince,  poor  Dagobert, 
Doth  kiss  his  hands  to  you  and  abdicate 
In  lieu  of  one  more  royal  lord  —  King  Patch. 
Acclaim  him ! 

[Stepping  down,  Charles  mounts  the  Tailor  upon  the  throne, 
on  the  seat  of  which  he  stands,  in  alarmed  confusion.~\ 

THE  TAILOR 

Majesty !  —  Sweet  ladies ! 

THE  LADIES 

Hail! 

CHARLES 

Behold  the  man  who  mendeth  Alexander, 

And  ravelleth  up  the  rended  Caesar's  wounds : 

Lo !  moth  corrupteth  us,  and  mildew  stains, 

Diana  frays  her  moon-white  taffeta, 

Yea,  Phoebus  sullieth  his  golden  hose, 

Fate  makes  or  mars  us,  but  King  Patch  doth  mend  ! 

BOULIGNY 

\_Havingjust  entered,  claps  his  palm. ~\ 
Par  excellence,  a  Cicero  ! 


50  JEANNE  D'ARC 

CHARLES 
[Bowing.  ] 

Your  servant, 
Bouligny !  —  now  to  crown  him,  ladies. 

THE  LADIES 

Crown  him ! 

[  Catherine  snatches  up  the  work-basket  and,  inverting,  lifts 
it  —  dangling  with  spools,  bobbins,  and  shears  —  tow 
ard  the  Tailor] 

THE  TAILOR 

Dames !     Gentle  dames  ! 

CATHERINE 

[Thrusting  the  basket  over  his  head.] 
A  crown  ! 

DIANE 
\Forcinga  yardstick  into  his  hand. ~\ 

A  sceptre ! 

THE  TAILOR 
[From  within  the  basket] 

Virgin ! 
ALL 

Long  live  King  Patch  ! 

{The  Tailor,  extricating  himself,  giggling  and  grinning  a 
scared  smile,  bobs  and  kisses  his  palm  to  Charles  and 
the  Ladies,  who  shout  with  laughter] 

THE  TAILOR 

Pardon  and  compliments ! 
Pardon,  mesdames,  seigneurs,  and  compliments ! 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  51 

[At  the  height  of  this  royal  mockery,  there  enters  from  the  col 
onnade,  D'ALENCON  —  a  quiet,  contrasting  figure.  He 
is  scribbling  on  a  parchment  and  pauses.  Glancing 
from  the  throne-chair  scene,  he  turns  to  where  La  Tre- 
mouille  and  De  Chartres  are  talking  together  apart, 
and  silently  approaches  them.'] 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[Pointing  at  the  Tailor."] 
Behold  the  King  of  France  enthroned. 

DE  CHARTRES 

You  mean 
That  we  must  strive  to  keep  him  thus. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

I  mean 

That  he  who  holds  a  mortgage  on  a  king 
May  keep  the  sceptre  for  security 
During  the  debt's  outstanding. 

DE  CHARTRES 

How  the  sceptre  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

The    power,   De   Chartres;  like   yonder    Knave    of 

Spools 

Charles  wields  the  royal  yardstick,  but  the  King 
Of  France  —  the  man  that  reigns  —  c'est  moi ! 

DE  CHARTRES 

And  I  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

\_  Graciously, ,  J 
My  privy  council. 


52  JEANNE  D"1  ARC 

[Suddenly  ;  over  his  shoulder  observing  D* Alen$on.~\ 

Ah,  D'  Alen$on  !  — 
Poeticizing  ? 

D'ALENCON 

Yes  ;  I  am  composing 
A  rondel  on  the  weather,  called  " // rains" 

\De  Chartres  and  La  Tremouille  glance  at  each  other  quizzi 
cally.  With  a  studious  look  D^Alenc^on  turns  away,  and 
takes  from  the  fireplace  a  book.~\ 

THE  COURT  LADIES 

A  speech  !     A  coronation  speech  ! 

THE  TAILOR 

Mesdames, 

Seigneurs,  and  compliments  !     If  Majesty 
Would  pay  to  me  my  wage,  and  let  me  go. 

CHARLES 

Thy  wage,  pardieu  !     O  heart  of  emery  ! 
Sharpen  your  needles  in  him,  ladies.     Wage ! 
Wage  for  a  patch  ! 

THE  TAILOR 

Nay,  Majesty,  a  year  — 
One  year,  last  Candlemas,  'tis  overdue. 

CHARLES 

Hark  to  the  bobbin  buzz  !     What,  take  thy  wages ! 

Wilt  bear  'em  on  thy  back  ?     A  twelvemonth,  here  ! 

One  month  —  two  —  three  —  four ! 

[Snatching  from  him  the  yardstick,  Charles  thwacks  the 
Tailor  down  from  the  throne,  whence  he  runs,  pursued 
by  the  Ladies,  who  prick  his  sides  with  their  needles^\ 


JEANNE  D^ARC  53 

THE  TAILOR 
[Running  off.~^ 

Charity,  mesdames  ! 


CHARLES 
[Pauses,  laughing,  and  greets  D'Alen$on,  who,  over  his  book, 

has  been  looking  keenly  on.~] 
What  think  you  of  our  royal  sport,  D'Alengon  ? 

D'ALENCON 

No  king,  sire,  could  more  quaintly  lose  his  kingdom. 

[Charles,  ceasing  his  laughter  with  a  conscious  look,  vaguely 
ashamed,  hesitates,  then  follows  &Alenc,on,  who  has 
turned  away,  and—  walking  aside  with  him—  grows 
strangely  serious.  ~\ 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  De  Chartres.~\ 
Behold  my  Rome  and  Rubicon. 

DE  CHARTRES 

What  —  yonder? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

That  man  is  in  my  way  ;  he  must  be  crossed 
Before  the  King  is  mine. 

DE  CHARTRES 

That  bookworm  duke  ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
His  influence  grows. 

DE  CHARTRES 

Nay,  hardly  with  the  King  ! 


54  JEANNE  D'ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

De  Chartres,  you  know  not  Charles;  he's  like  a  tree- 
frog 

That  takes  the  colour  of  the  bark  it  clings  to. 
Watch  how  demure  he  holds  the  young  duke's  sleeve 
And  alters  to  the  dim  scholastic  hue 
Of  vellum  and  antique  philosophy  ; 
As  quickly  would  he  turn  blood-colour,  if 
The  duke  should  flush  with  feeling. 

DE  CHARTRES 

Feeling !     Flush  ? 

Why,  'tis  a  rhyming  clerk !  —  a  duke  of  parchment ! 
The  mere  illumination  of  a  man 
Stuck  in  life's  margin  to  adorn  the  text. 
He  feels  for  naught  this  side  the  Fall  of  Troy. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

You  have  forgot  "  It  rains  "  ? 

DE  CHARTRES 

A  foolish  pun ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

About  myself:  that  theme,  at  least,  is  new 
Since  Troy  fell.     No  ;  I  do  not  trust  him.  —  You 
Were  best  to  interrupt  their  tete-a-tete. 

VENDOME 

\At  the  door,  announces  to  Charles. ~\ 
His  Majesty's  bootmaker! 

CHARLES 

Show  him  here. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  55 

DE  CHARTRES 

\_As   Charles  turns   momentarily  toward   Vend6me,  touches 
D>AUn$on>s  volume  and  speaks  to  him.'] 

Who  wrote  the  book  ? 

D'ALENCON 

Pierre  Lombard,  pupil  once 
Of  Abelard,  who  sang  to  Heloise. 

DE  CHARTRES 

[Frowning  suspicion."] 
Is  it  godly  ? 

D'ALENCON 

That  your  reverence  may  judge : 
The  writer  plucks  a  hair  out  of  his  head, 
Splits  it  in  two,  and  names  the  one  half  Faith 
The  other,  Heresy.     The  first  he  dyes 
Pure  gold,  the  other  pitch-black,  and  both  he  nails 
As  index-fingers  on  the  Church's  apse, 
And  points  one   hair   toward   Heaven,  the   other  — 
elsewhere. 

DE  CHARTRES 

I  do  not  comprehend. 

D'ALENCON 
[Closing  the  book  with  a  dry  smile. ~\ 

Neither  do  I ! 
'       [Exit  D^Akngon,  right.'] 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

[To  De  Chartres,  who  returns  pensively  to  himj] 
What  think  you  now  ? 


56  JEANNE  D^ARC 

DE   CHARTRES 

I  think  he  thinks  too  much. 

\_Enter  the    BOOTMAKER,  a    big    raw  fellow,   in    leather. 
He  takes  a  pair  of  boots  from  his  apron.~\ 

BOOTMAKER 

Complete,  sire. 

CHARLES 

Let  me  see  them. 
\_The  Bootmaker  hands  him  one.~\ 

Catherine, 
What  say  you  to  the  cut  ? 

CATHERINE 

Perfection,  Charles ! 

Your  Majesty  shall  walk  like  Puss-in-Boots 
When  he  proclaimed  the  Marquis  of  Carabbas. 

CHARLES 

[  With  sudden  ennui,  comparing  the  boot  with  his  lower  leg.~\ 
Perchance  'twill  serve  to  hide  Achilles'  heel  ? 

[To  the  Bootmaker.'} 
Show  me  the  mate. 

BOOTMAKER 

Six  livres,  twenty  sous. 

CHARLES 

The  mate,  I  said. 

BOOTMAKER 

{Stolidly,  thrusting  the  mate  under  his  arm.~\ 
Six  livres,  twenty  sous. 

CHARLES 

Ah  ?     Charge  it  on  account.     I'll  take  the  pair. 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  5  7 

BOOTMAKER 
[Inflexible.'} 
A  bird  in  the  hand  makes  supper  in  the  pot. 

CHARLES 

God's  death  !     Am  I  the  King  ?     Set  down  the  boot 
And  go  ! 

BOOTMAKER 
\_Backing  to  the  door,  stands  sullenly,  swinging  the  one  boot 

by  its  straps^} 
Six  livres,  twenty  sous. 

CHARLES 
\Hurling  the  other  boot  after  htm.'] 

Go  dun 
The  devil  for  it ! 

BOOTMAKER 

[Picking  up  the  boot,  eyes  it  over,  spits  on  his  apron,  and 
with  that  rubs  the  toe  of  the  boot  carefully.'} 

Five  and  twenty  sous  ! 

[Exit  slowly,  a  boot  in  each  hand.  Charles,  having 
watched  him  go,  turns  in  a  pet  of  frenzy  and,  flinging 
down  upon  the  throne  footstool,  speaks  hoarsely  to  him 
self,  weeping.~\ 

CHARLES 

Am  I  the  King  ?     God,  God !     Am  I  the  King  ? 

DE  CHARTRES 
[Amused,  to  La  TremouilleJ] 
Have  you  no  smiles  for  this  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[  Yawning.'] 

Tis  too  familiar. 


58  JEANNE  D^ARC 

CATHERINE 
[Approaching  La  Tremouille,  obsequiously] 

The  little  King  of  Chinon  hath  caught  the  sulks, 
Sieur  La  Tremouille. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
I'm  busy. 

CATHERINE 

Pardon  — 

[With    an  ingratiatory   lifting  of  the  brows   and  a   low 
reverence.~\ 

—  Sire  ? 

[La  Tremouille  smiles  slightly  and  looks  down  again  at 
his  papers.  As  De  Chartres,  however,  leaves  the  table 
to  speak  with  Bouligny,  La  Tremouille  calls  Catherine 
with  his  eyes,  and  speaks  to  her  intimately,  watching 
with  her  the  King  and  smiling] 

ATHENIE 

[To  LA  HIRE,  who  enters.] 
Marshal,  hast  heard  what  ails  the  King's  game-cocks  ? 

LA  HIRE 

No,  dame. 

ATHENIE 

'Tis  said  that  they  have  shed  their  spurs, 
And  strut  amongst  the  hens  i'  the  castle-yard 
[Flaps  her  sleeves  like  a  cocks  wings.~\ 

Crying  :    "  King  Noodle-Nothing-Do  !       Chez  nous  /  " 
[La  Hire  turns  away  with  a  grimace. ~\ 


JEANNE  D^ARC  59 

DIANE 
\To  a  Lady^ 

No  wonder  the  King's  figure  is  god-like. 
They  say  his  lady  mother  had  a  steward 
Shaped  like  Apollo. 

CHARLES 
\_From  the  footstool.~\ 

Ladies,  I  have  the  ear-ache. 

DIANE 
Beseech  you,  sire,  what  may  we  do  to  soothe  it  ? 

CHARLES 

Bring  here  those  honey-flasks  of  calumny 

And  pour  them  in  my  ears.     Perchance  'twill  stop 

This  piping  noise  within. 

ATHENIE 

What  piping  noise, 
Your  Majesty  ? 

CHARLES 

A  lute  within  my  head : 
A  slender  lute  carven  with  fleur-de-lis, 
And  at  the  tip  a  crown  of  fleur-de-lis, 
And  on  the  stops  a  lady's  fingers  lying, 
And  on  the  mouth-piece  are  a  lady's  lips, 
And  when  they  breathe,  there  opes  a  tiny  rift 
Within  the  fibre,  and  the  hollow  thing 
Pipes  a  shrill  hellish  whistle  — 
\_Leaping  up.  ] 

A  mere  rift, 
A  little,  little  rent !  — 


60  JEANNE  D'ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Nine  thousand  francs ! 

CHARLES 

What's  that? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
\With  a  side  smile  at  Catherine .] 

The  "little  rent"  you  owe  me,  Charles. 
A  trifle,  as  you  say,  and  soon  patched  up. 

CHARLES 

My  George  !     Thou  hast  a  heart  of  gold !  —  But  you 
Must  reimburse  yourself  o'  the  treasury. 

Bouligny  ! 

BOULIGNY 

Sire! 

CHARLES 

How  much  in  the  general  fund  ? 

BOULIGNY 

Eleven  francs,  five  sous,  your  Majesty. 

CHARLES 
Saint  dieu  !  no  more  than  that  ? 

BOULIGNY 

Sieur  La  Tremouille 
Hath  authorized  to-day  another  loan 
From  his  estates. 

CHARLES 
\Embracing  La  Tremouille J\ 

My  dear,  thou  art  mine  angel ! 

LA    TREMOUILLE 

Tut,  Charlie  !     Go  and  play. 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  6 1 

CHARLES 

Nay,  by  my  honour, 

But  you  shall  reap  your  master's  gratitude. 
When  we  have  raised  our  arm  imperial 
And  flogged  with  steel  these  spindling  English  — 

\The  room  bursts  into  a  titter ;  Charles  pauses  disconcerted. 
La  Tremouille,  badly  concealing  a  smile,  raises  an 
admonishing  forefinger  to  the  Ladies,  who  burst  into 
louder  laughter.  Charles,  covering  his  face,  turns 
precipitately  and  is  rushing  from  the  room  when,  in 
the  doorway  (back)  he  encounters  D'Alen$on,  entering. 
The  latter  has  evidently  just  been  concerned  with  the 
frayed  edges  of  his  scroll  of  parchment,  but  now  —  tak 
ing  in  the  situation  at  a  glance  —  he  bows  to  the  King 
with  simple  reverence. ~\ 

D'ALEN£ON 

Sire, 

You  are  generous  to  cover  my  confusion. 
Yet  if  these  gentles  choose  to  laugh  at  me  — 

CHARLES 
\BewilderedI\ 
At  you  ! 

D'ALENCON 

Why,  they  are  right.     You  spoke  of  war, 
Of  frays  where   brave  men  break  their   limbs  and 

lances, 

When  lo  ! — I  enter,  mending  of  a  parchment. 
Should  not  they  laugh  ?     'Tis  such  as  I,  my  King, 
Such  dog-eared  captains  skulking  in  their  books, 
Such  Frenchmen,  idling  in  satiric  ease 
While  France  lies  struck  and  bleeding  —  such  who 

bring 


62  JEANNE  D^ARC 

Your  Majesty's  dear  reign  dishonour.     Thanks, 
Friends  of  Chinon !     Thanks  for  your  keen  rebuke. 
I  know  what  you  would  say  :    Here  stands  our  King, 
Our  sacred  liege,  namesake  of  Charlemagne, 
And  we,  who  take  our  dignities  from  him, 
And  only  shine  because  we  are  his  servants, 
Much  it  becomes  us  now,  in  his  great  need, 
To  be  no  more  his  gossips,  chamberlains 
And  poetasters  — 

[  Tearing  his  parchment.  ] 

but  his  soldiers.     Pray, 
Sieur  La  Tremouille,  throw  this  in  the  fire : 
This  is  that  little  rondel  on  the  weather. 
[  With  emotion,  he  offers  his  hand  to  La  Tremouille,  who 
refuses  it  icily '.] 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Your  fire  will  scarce  prevent  its  raining  still, 
If  Heaven  so  wills  it,  sir. 

D'ALEN£ON 
\Atfirstfeels  the  repulse  keenly,  then  speaks  in  quiet  disdain.'] 

True,  if  Heaven  wills  it. 

\_Turning  to  the  hearth,  D'Alen^on  throws  the  parchment 
into  the  flames. ~\ 

CHARLES 

[  Giving  him  his  hand,  diffidently^ 
D'Alengon  —  thanks ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
\T0  De  Chartres.~\ 

Our  scrimmage  now  is  on. 
Let  see  which  wins. 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  63 

ATHENIE 
The  duke  was  warm. 

CATHERINE 

La !     Let 

Our  little  King  still  dream  his  name  is  France. 
Sure,  he  will  soon  believe  this  milking-maid 
Who  comes  to  crown  him. 

ATHENIE 

Milking-maid  ? 

CATHERINE 

Why,  she 

Who  rode  in  town  the  eve  of  yesterday, 
The  soldier-shepherdess,  —  Jeanne  la  Pucelle, 
The  people  call  her. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

The  dear  people  love 
To  label  any  peasant  drab  a  "virgin," 
And  every  charlatan  a  "  shepherdess." 

LA  HIRE 

Tonnerre  de  dieu !     What  man  hath  seen  the  face 

Of  Jeanne  the  Maid  and  named  her  charlatan  ? 

Her  face  —  God's  eyes !     When  I   am  cooked   and 

damn'd, 

And  devils  twirl  me  on  a  spit  in  hell, 
I'll  think  upon  that  face  and  have  redemption. 

D'ALEN£ON 

[  Who  has  listened  with  eager  interest^ 
Then  you  have  seen  her  ? 


64  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LA  HIRE 

Once,  and  ever  since 

My  fingers  have  been  itching  at  my  sword 
To  crack  an  English  skull  and  win  her  smile. 

DIANE 

0  miracles  !     Monsieur  the  Growler  speaks 
In  praise  of  women. 

CATHERINE 

Ah,  my  love,  but  think 
How  man's  gear  doth  become  the  maiden  shape. 

LA  HIRE 

\To  La  Tremouille] 
And  if  she  be  not  white  as  maidenhood, 

1  will  —  before  these  ladies  and  your  Grace  — 
Pluck  out  mine  eye-teeth. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Save  them,  sir ;  'tis  plain 
She  hath  already  plucked  your  wisdom  out. 

[Deliberately] 
I  do  not  love  this  Jeanne. 

LA  HIRE 
\BowingI\ 

I  do,  Seigneur. 

ATHENIE 

[  With  awe,  aside  to  Diane.~\ 
He'd  better  have  drunk  poison  than  said  that. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  65 

D'ALEN£ON 

Marshal  La  Hire,  your  hand  !     Fame  hath  described 

you  — 

Your  pardon  !  —  as  a  rake-hell,  hydrophobious 
Gascon,  who  bites  at  all  men  — 

\Glancing  at  La  Tremouillel\ 

even  favourites. 

I  pray,  sir,  as  the  fire  regales  the  hearth-mouse, 
Grant  me  your  friendship. 

LA  HIRE 
[Giving his  hand.~\ 

Sir,  you  have  it  —  hot. 

D'ALENgON 

This  Jeanne  the  Maid,  you  think  she  is  —  inspired  ? 

LA  HIRE 

No,  sir !  —  I  know  it. 

D'ALENgON 

\With  a  faint,  indulgent  smiled] 
This  will  interest 
His  Majesty:  pray,  will  you  tell  him  more  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

\Watching  D"> Alenqon  escort  La  Hire  to  Charles  I\ 
By  God,  the  man  usurps  me. 

DE  CHARTRES 

But  I  thought 

You  laid  an  ambush  for  this  charlatan 
To  keep  her  from  the  King. 


66  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

The  plan  failed.     Now 

She  is  quartered  here  within  the  castle  tower. 
The  doctors  of  Poitiers  are  with  her  there, 
Cross-questioning  her  faith  and  sanity. 

DE  CHARTRES 

Will,  then,  the  King  receive  her  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

He  must  not. 

No ;  from  this  castle's  tower  she  must  depart 
Back  to  Lorraine. 

[Indicating  D'Alen^on  and  La  Hire.~\ 

These  babblers  must  be  hushed, 
And  Jeanne's  reception  foiled.     Such  sparks  make 

flames. 

Already  she  hath  kindled  the  people ;  soon 
She  might  inflame  the  King  himself  to  action ; 
Then — follow   me!      If    France   should  whip    the 

English, 
Charles  would  be  solvent. 

DE  CHARTRES 

And  you  really  fear 
Lest  one  weak  girl  shall  overturn  the  world  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

One  should  fear  nothing  ;  what  one  knows  is  this  : 
'Well  for  oneself  is  well  enough  for  the  world.' 
In  short,  at  present  all  is  well  for  me. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  67 

D'ALEN£ON 

[To  Venddme,  who  has  entered  and  spoken  with  him.] 
Bring  here  the  men  ;  they  shall  be  very  welcome. 

LA   HIRE 

Our  livers  are  too  fat,  your  Majesty. 
We  Frenchmen  are  a  herd  of  potted  geese, 
A  pate  defois  gras  to  cram  the  bellies 
Of  British  mongrels. 

CHARLES 

Still,  sir, — 

LA  HIRE 

Ventre  du  diable  ! 

Flanders,  Artois,  Champagne,  and  Picardy, 
Normandy  —  gobbled,  all  of  'em  !     And  now 
Talbot,  the  English  mastiff,  with  his  whelps, 
Squats  on  his  haunch  and  howls  at  Orleans'  gate, 
And  Scales  and  Suffolk  bark  around  the  walls. 
God's  bones !  and  what  do  we  ?     Seize  up  our  cudgels 
And  drive  the  curs  back  to  their  island-kennel  ? 
Nay,  sire,  we  scare  'em  off  with  nursery-songs. 

CHARLES 

You  speak  your  mind  a  little  harshly,  Marshal  ? 

LA  HIRE 

I  keep  but  one  about  me,  sire,  and  that 

Is  likely  to  go  off  in  people's  noses 

Like  this  new  brand  of  snuff  called  gunpowder. 

[To  a  servant  who  has  come  to  him  from  La  Tremouille.~\ 

His  grace  would  wish  to  speak  with  me  ? — Delighted! 

\_He  follows  the  servant  to  La  Tremouille,  who  speaks  aside 

to  him.~] 


68  JEANNE  D-'ARC 

CHARLES 

[  Utterly  dejected  by  La  Hire's  words. ~\ 
What  can  I  do,  D'Alengon  ?     I  am  pawned 
And  patched  and  mortgaged  to  my  finger-nails. 
The  very  turnspits  in  the  kitchen  whistle 
For  wages  at  me,  and  I  bid  them  whistle. 
What  can  I  do  but  play  at  King  ? 


D'ALENCON 

A  change 

Of  policy  would  bring  you  instant  funds. 
Your  people  would  recover  your  lost  cities, 
If  you  would  captain  them. 

CHARLES 

My  people !     Ah 

'Tis  God  alone  could  make  this  people  mine, 
By  consecrated  rite  and  taintless  seed 
From  sire  to  royal  son.     I  had  a  mother, 
Who  left  me  for  her  royal  legacy 
A  monstrous  doubt  in  a  tiny  syllable : 
Legitimate  or  //legitimate  ?  — 
Cure  me  that  ill,  and  I  will  conquer  Europe. 

D'ALENCON 

Boethius  saith,  there  is  one  antidote 
To  being  born  ;  that  is  —  philosophy. 

LA   HIRE 

{To  La  Tremouille.'] 

Excuse  me,  sir  !     This  silence  is  too  golden 
For  me  to  keep  it  by  me.     I  have  heard, 


JEANNE  D^ARC  69 

When  I  was  hatched,  the  mid-wife  split  my  tongue 
And  had  me  suckled  by  a  certain  jackdaw, 
That  was  the  village  wet-nurse.  —  Who  can  vouch 
For  all  one  hears  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Silence  must  come  to  all : 
To  some  a  little  sooner.  —  I  have  said. 

LA  HIRE 
\_JB  owing. ~\ 

As  soon  as  God  shall  have  your  Grace's  permit, 
I  shall  be  ready !     (Lower)     Yet  I  warn  your  Grace, 
Bury  me  not  too  shallow  under  sod, 
Lest,  where  the  stink  is,  other  jackdaws  scratch 
And  cause  your  Grace's  nose  embarrassment. 
\_Reenter  Vendome,  followed  by  DE  METZ  andDE  POULANGY, 
whom  he  escorts  to  D'Alen$on  and  Charles.] 

D'ALENgON 

Your  name  ? 

DE   METZ 

Mine :  Jean  de  Metz,  servant  of  France. 

D'ALENgON 

And  yours  ? 

DE  POULANGY 
Bertrand  de  Poulangy. 

D'ALENgON 

\_To  both.'] 

Your  master  ? 

DE  METZ 

Robert  de  Baudricourt  of  Vaucouleurs. 


70  JEANNE  D^ARC 

CHARLES 

He  sent  you  to  conduct  this  shepherdess 
Here  to  our  castle  ? 

DE   METZ 

And  beseech  you,  King, 
To  give  her  audience. 

D'ALEN£ON 

You  travelled  shrewdly 
To  escape  the  English  and  Burgundians. 
They  hold  the  river-bridges  and  the  fords. 

DE   METZ 

We  escaped  by  miracle  :  at  black  of  night, 
We  swam  our  horses  through  the  swollen  streams ; 
At  dawn,  we  couched  in  hiding ;  at  our  side 
She  slept  all  day  in  armour ;  and  we  prayed. 
It  was  the  Maid  who  brought  us  safely  here. 

D'ALENCON 

Nay,  but  you  say  you  were  in  hiding. 

DE   METZ 

Yet 
It  was  the  Maid  ;  she  said  it  should  be  so. 

D'ALENCON 

Can  she,  then,  prophesy  ? 

DE  METZ 

She  is  from  God. 

D'ALENCON 
[Smiling.~\ 
You  told  us  —  from  Lorraine  ! 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  7 1 

DE  METZ 

Even  so  from  God. 

Out  of  Lorraine,  beside  the  Ladies'  Tree, 
Shall  come  a  maid  —  saviour  of  France. 

CHARLES 

What's  that  ? 

D'ALENCON 

A  legend  old  as  Merlin. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[  Who  has  approached.] 

And  as  heathen. 
\To  De  Metz  and  De  Poulangy.] 
You  are  dismissed. 

DE    METZ 
\To  Charles] 
Beseech  your  Majesty 
To  grant  her  audience ! 

DE  POULANGY 

She  is  from  God. 

DE  CHARTRES 

That  shall  the  judgment  of  the  Church  decide. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

The  door  is  open. 

DE   METZ 
\Supplicatingly.  ] 
Gracious  King! 

CHARLES 

But  George  — 


72  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Don't  fear ;  the  beggars  shall  not  plague  thee,  boy. 

CHARLES 

Nay,  by  St.  Denis  !  but  they  plague  me  not. 
A  March-mad  peasant-wench  will  pass  the  time. 
I'll  see  the  lass. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
Good-nature  kills  thee,  Charles. 
[Dismissing  De  Metz  and  De  Poulangy  with  a  gesture.'] 
His  Majesty  regrets  - 

D'ALENCON 

His  Majesty 
Regrets  he  might  not  sooner  speak  with  her. 

[To  the  Chamberlain.] 

Vendome,  go  with  these  men,  and  tell  the  Maid 
The  King  will  see  her  now. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

[Eying  D'Alen$on  with  shrewd  defiance^ 
Sir,  is  this  wise  ? 

D'ALENCON 

Whether  'tis  wise,  your  Grace,  depends  perhaps 
Whether  one  holds  a  first  or  second  mortgage. 
Foreclosure  of  a  second  might  be  folly. 
[A  slight  pause. ~\ 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

What's  this  — a  parable  ? 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  73 

D'ALENCON 

Why,  what  you  please  ; 
Call  it  a  hook  and  line.     I  knew  a  man 
Who  turned  fish-monger  of  an  Easter  eve. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[  With  a  piqued  smile  and  shrug.~\ 
Nonsense  prevails! 

[A s  De  Metz  and  De  Poulangy  go  out,  he  turns  aside  to  Dt 
Chartres.~\ 

The  devil  fetch  this  duke ! 
I  would  I  knew  what  he  hath  loaned  to  Charles. 

CHARLES 
[Pensively. ~] 

"  Out  of  Lorraine,  beside  the  Ladies'  Tree, 
Shall  come  a  maid  —  saviour  of  France."  —  D'Alen- 

gon  ! 

What  if  this  wench,  green  from  her  vines  and  cheeses, 
Her  sheep-shears  and  her  spindle,  should  dispel 
My  sovereign  doubt.  —  Nay,  listen  !     If  she  be 
From  God  indeed,  and  I  be  truly  King, 
She  should  detect  my  royal  sanctity 
Under  what  guise  soever ;  ought  she  not  ? 

D'ALENCON 

There  are  some  powers  of  nature  little  known. 
But  what  may  be  your  plan  ? 

CHARLES 

I  say,  unless 

She  be  a  charlatan,  or  I  base-born, 
She'll  recognize  me  by  her  holy  vision 
As  King  amongst  a  thousand. 


74  JEANNE  D 'ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[Eagerly.} 

That  must  follow, 
Of  course. 

D'ALENgON 

I  think  it  follows  not ;  but,  sire, 
What  means  of  testing  — 

CHARLES 

This!     She  comes  but  newly 
From  far  Lorraine,  hath  never  seen  my  face, 
Nor  heard  my  voice,  nor  set  foot  in  this  hall. 
Good  !     You  and  I,  D'Alen^on,  shall  change  cloaks, 
You  shall  be  King  —  she  hath  not  seen  thee  ? 

D'ALENCON 

Never. 

CHARLES 

Good!     I  will  be  D'Alen^on  and  stand  here 
One  of  the  court,  subordinate,  whilst  you 
Sit  yonder  on  the  throne-chair  —  Charles  of  France. 
Then  let  her  enter. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Bravo,  Charles !     A  plot 
Of  genius ! 

CHARLES 

Nay,  a  pleasant  ruse. 

D'ALENCON 

But  if 

She  fail  to  uncloak  the  counterfeit  ?     Such  slips 
Are  common  to  the  best  of  us. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  75 

CHARLES 

At  least 

We  shall  have  killed  an  hour  in  a  new  way, 
And  one  less  hoax  to  trouble  us. 

VENDOME 
[Announces  at  the  door.~\ 

The  Maid ! 

The  reverend  masters  are  conducting  her 
Here  to  your  Majesty. 

CHARLES 

Be  quick,  D'Alengon ! 

[As  Charles,  stripping  off  his  outer  garment,  reaches  it  to 
D'Alen^on,  La  Tremouille  beckons  Vendome  to  himself] 

D'ALENCON 
[Hesitating.] 
You  wish  it,  sire  ? 

CHARLES 

At  once. 

[They  exchange'  cloaks,  but  the  placard  of  King  Dagobert  is 
discarded  to  a  servant.] 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[_To  Venddme,  indicating  to  him  the  fact  of  the  exchange.] 

You  understand. 
[Exit  Vendtime] 

[With  an  exultant  smile,  to  De  Chartres.] 
This  whim  of  Charles's  relieves  us  of  much  pains. 
Look  where  he  prays  to  the  glass  emperor. 
[La  Tremouille  points  at  Charles,  who  —  wearing  D'Alen- 
tori's    cloak  of  dun  —  stands   beneath  the    window  of 
stained  glass,  and  supplicates  it,  apart.] 


76  JEANNE  D^ARC 

CHARLES 

Thou,  Charlemagne,  dead  sire  and  mighty  saint ! 

If  in  my  veins  thy  hallowed  blood  still  runs, 

Let  through  this  mean  disguise  thy  royal  spirit  shine, 

And  make,  in  me,  thy  race  and  honour  manifest. 

\_D*  Alen$on,  wearing  Charles's  royal  cloak,  sits  on  the  throne. 
All  those  present  range  themselves  as  his  subjects,  some 
standing  near,  others  closing  about  Charles,  where  he 
stands  (right  centre). 

Reenter  then,  at  back,  Venddme,  followed  by  DOCTORS 
of  the  Church ;  these  by  De  Metz  and  De  Poulangy, 
who  stand  by  the  door  ;  last  enters  Jeanne,  dressed  as  a 
man.  The  Doctors,  exchanging  with  Venddme  a  hardly 
detectable  look  of  understanding,  approach  D'Alen<;on, 
make  their  obeisances,  and  stand  away.  Venddme, 
motioning  then  to  Jeanne,  moves  forward  to  conduct  her 
to  D'Alen$on  as  king,  but  pauses  as  she  does  not  follow. 
Standing  in  the  doorway,  Jeanne,  lifting  her  face  in 
tensely  toward  the  stained- glass  window,  seems  to  listen. 
At  the  same  moment,  while  the  eyes  of  all  are  centred 
upon  Jeanne,  there  emerges  from  the  great  fireplace, 
where  logs  are  burning,  and  stands  upon  the  hearth 
with  flaming  wings,  St.  Michael,  who  gazes  also  at 
Jeanne.  The  only  sound  or  other  motion  in  the  hall 
is  caused  by  the  Court-fool,  who,  springing  up  from  the 
throne-footstool  to  whisper  of  the  Maid  in  D^Alenc^on's 
ear,  sets  thereby  the  bells  on  his  cap  to  tinkling  silverly. 
Simultaneously,  the  voice  of  St.  Catherine  speaks,  as 
from  mid-air.'} 

THE  VOICE 

Daughter  of  God,  choose  boldly. 

[  Glancing  slowly  through  the  hall,  the  eyes  of  Jeanne  meet 
those  of  St.  Michael,  who  points,  with  his.  hand  at 


JEANNE  D^ARC  77 

Charles,  then  turns  and  disappears  within  the  smoke 
and  glow  of  the  fireplace.  Moving  then  with  decision, 
Jeanne  follows  Venddme,  but  oblivious  of  D'Alenqon, 
passes  on  straight  to  Charles,  before  whom  she  kneels 
down.] 

JEANNE 

Gentle  Dauphin, 

My  name  is  Jeanne  the  Maid,  and  I  am  come 
To  bring  you  tidings  from  the  King  of  Heaven 
That  He  by  means  of  me  shall  consecrate 
And  crown  you  King  at  Rheims. 

\The  hall  remains  silent  and  awed.      Charles  is    visibly 
moved.'] 

CHARLES 

I  am  not  the  King. 

JEANNE 

Truly  you  are  the  Dauphin  —  Charles  of  France, 
Who  shall  be  King  when  God  anointeth  you 
In  His  cathedral. 

D'ALEN£ON 

By  my  fay,  young  maid, 
Thou  dost  not  flatter  us  with  homage.  Rise 
And  stand  before  us.  We  are  Charles  of  France. 

JEANNE 

I  rise,  Seigneur,  but  not  unto  the  King. 
You  are  not  Charles  of  France. 

DE  CHARTRES 
[  With  emotion,  aside  to  La  Tremouille.~\ 

This  troubles  me. 


78  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

[Caustically] 
We  have  been  tricked  somewhere. 

D'ALENgON 

'Tis  plain,  good  Jeanne, 

That  thou  art  wandered  in  some  winter's  tale, 
Wherein  lese-majeste  to  fairy-princes 
Doth  little  matter.     You  are  smiling  ?     What 
Do  we  remind  you  on  ? 

JEANNE 
\_Meeting  his  mood] 

In  truth,  Seigneur, 

At  home  in  Domremy  where  I  was  born 
There  lives  an  old  good-wife,  who  used  to  tell 
How  Master  Donkey  wore  King  Lion's  mane. 

LA  HIRE 

\Explodingin  laughter] 
Tonnerre ! 

JEANNE 

[Changing  instantly] 
Nay,  honourable  lords,  and  you 
Fair  gentlewomen,  truly  am  I  come 
Into  your  midst  —  a  sheep-maid  dull  and  rude. 
Pass  on !     Of  that  no  more.     But  which  of  you 
Hath  cunning  to  deceive  the  sight  of  God  ? 
Or  which  would  speak  a  lie  unto  his  Lord  ? 
My  Lord  hath  sent  me  here,  His  messenger, 
But  He  hath  girt  me  with  a  thousand  more 
Whose  eyes  are  many  as  the  nesting  birds 


JEANNE  D^ARC  79 

And  voices  as  cicadas  in  the  summer. 
Lo !  in  this  hall  they  hover  o'er  you  now, 
But  your  dissembling  eyes  send  up  a  mist 
To  obscure  their  shining  wings.     O  gentles,  mock 
No  more,  but  show  God  your  true  faces ! 
\_A  pause,  filled  with  the  various  pantomime  of  uneasiness, 
admiration,    and    wonder.     All   look  for  decision    to 

D1  Alen$on.~\ 

D'ALENCON 

[Rising  abruptly,  comes  down.~] 

Maid, 
I  lied  to  you.     I  am  the  Duke  d'Alen^on. 

JEANNE 

Dearer  to  France  as  duke  than  King,  Seigneur. 
\_She  extends  to  him  her  hand — strong,  peasantly,  with  a 

frank  smile.     He  takes  it,  amazed,  and  unconsciously 

continues  to  hold  //.] 

CHARLES 

\_Exultant,  seizes  La  Tremouille's  shoulder.] 
She  knew  me,  George  !     Unswervingly,  at  once, 
In  spite  of  all  our  cunning.  — 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Hm! 

CHARLES 

She  knew  me ; 
George  !  but  you  saw. 

LA   TREMOUILLE 

These  charlatans  are  shrewd. 

CHARLES 

What?— What! 


80  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

I  cannot  say. 

CHARLES 

But  you  beheld, 
Behold ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

It  may  be.  —  I  have  heard  —  who  knows 
What  hidden  conspirator  —  Satan  perhaps. 

CHARLES 

Satan ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Why  not  ? 

CHARLES 
[Aside,  imploringly. ] 

D'Alengon,  question  her ! 

What  deem  you  of  this  proof  ?     What  is  this  maid  ? 
[D'Alen$on,  having  started  at  being  addressed,  has  released 
Jeanne's  hand.~\ 

D'ALENgON 

I  know  not,  sire.  —  'Tis  that  which  fascinates  me. 

[Looking  again  at  Jeanne  with  his  former  friendly  puzzled 
look,  he  hesitates,  then  speaks,  embarrassed.  Through 
out  the  following  brief  scene  —  stirred  by  mingled  mysti 
fication  and  admiration  of  the  peasant  girl — he,  in  his 
questioning,  halts  occasionally  ;  in  which  gaps  La  Tre- 
mouille  steps  shrewdly  in.~\ 

D'ALENgON 
Jeanne  d' Arc,  you   have  well  stood  —  or  seemed  to 

stand  — 

Our  playful  ruse  —  his  Majesty's  and  mine  — 
To  test  your  boasted  powers. 


JEANNE  D-> ARC  8 1 

JEANNE 
[Simply. .] 

I  have  no  powers 
To  boast,  Seigneur. 

D'ALEN£ON 

You  have  been  catechised 
Already  by  these  reverend  Doctors  here  ? 

JEANNE 

Since  dawn  they  have  not  ceased  to  question  me. 

D'ALENgON 

What  is  your  verdict  thus  far,  Master  Seguin  ? 

SEGUIN 
Your  Grace,  we  find  no  fault  in  her. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
{Aside  to  De  Chartres^ 

Come,  come ; 
Now^0&  are  needed. 

DE  CHARTRES 
{Aside,  moved  with  confusion.] 
I  believe  in  her. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Our  privy  council  fails  us  now  ? 

DE  CHARTRES 

Her  face ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

{Acidly.} 
Pardieu ! 

G 


82  JEANNE  D^ARC 

D'ALEN£ON 
[To  Jeanne.} 

What  is  this  boon  which  you  have  come 
To  beg  his  Majesty  ? 

JEANNE 

I  beg,  Seigneur, 

A  troop  of  the  good  fighting-men  of  France, 
That  I  may  lead  them,  by  the  help  of  God, 
To  drive  from  France  the  wicked  Englishmen 
That  'siege  his  town  of  Orleans. 

LA  HIRE 
[Striding  back  and  forth, ,] 

Sacr£  bleu! 
Boil  'em  in  peppermint. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  Jeanne,  intervening,  as  D'Alen^on  gazes  in  admiration.} 

Most  excellent ! 

That  thou,  a  shepherd  lass,  shouldst  leave  thy  wool 
To  instruct  our  captains  in  the  craft  of  war. 

JEANNE 

My  Lord  hath  willed  it  so. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Who  is  thy  lord  ? 

JEANNE 

The  King  of  Heaven  that  is  the  King  of  France 
Till  He  shall  crown  the  Dauphin. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  83 

D'ALENgON 
[To  La  Tremouille] 

Sir,  your  pardon  : 

/  am  now  catechiser.  —  Slowly,  Jeanne : 
If  God  hath  willed  to  bring  deliverance 
To  France,  then  soldiers  are  superfluous. 
Why  do  you  ask  for  soldiers  ? 

JEANNE 

En  nom  D£  ! 

The  soldiers  are  to  fight,  and  God  to  give 
The  victory. 

[Murmurs  of  approbation.] 

D'ALEN£ON 

You  do  not  then  believe 
In  God  His  power  ? 

JEANNE 
[Gravely. ~\ 
Better  than  you,  Seigneur. 

D'ALEN£ON 

[At  first  amused,  then  strangely  moved  by  this  character- 
reading ;  drops  again  the  thread  of  his  questioning  in  self- 
reveryJ] 

Better  than  I ! 

\_He  continues  to  watch  and  listen  to  Jeanne,  absorbed  in  her 
as  in  some  problem  unsolved^ 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

You  have  observed,  my  friends, 
The  circling  orbit  of  these  arguments, 


84  JEANNE  &ARC 

That  veer  like  swallows  round  a  chimney  hole. 
Clearly  we  must  await  some  valid  sign 
Before  we  trust  this  maid. 

JEANNE 

My  noble  masters ! 

I  come  not  to  Chinon  to  show  you  signs, 
But  give  me  those  good  fighters,  and  for  sign 
I  will  deliver  Orleans. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Have  you,  then, 
No  other  sign  to  show  ? 

JEANNE 

I  have,  indeed, 

A  sign  —  but  not  for  you.     It  may  be  seen 
By  one  alone,  my  Dauphin. 

CHARLES 

Me !     By  me  ? 

JEANNE 

O  gentle  Dauphin,  by  the  love  you  bear 

To  France,  and  by  the  love  of  France  for  you, 

Hear  me  —  but  not  with  these. 

CHARLES 
[To  all.'] 

Leave  us  alone. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

[Aside,] 

Remember,  Charles,  what  black  confederate 
Instructs  this  man-maid. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  g 

CHARLES 

Let  the  court  withdraw. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[Dryly,  to  Charles.'} 
I  stay,  my  dear ! 

JEANNE 

{Very  quietly,  standing  with  her  eyes  focussed far.] 
The  Seigneur  will  withdraw. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

[Drawing  away  after  the  others  toward  the  stairway,  over 
takes  De  Chartres,  aside.~\ 
She  is  possessed. 

DE  CHARTRES 

By  angels. 

D'ALEN£ON 
[  Withdrawing  last  with  La  Hire] 

Friend  La  Hire, 

How  much  of  miracle,  think  you,  do  we 
Ignore  in  simple  nature  ? 

[Charles  is  now  left  alone  with  Jeanne,  beyond  the  others' 
hearing] 

CHARLES 

Shepherdess, 
How  knewest  thou  it  was  I,  among  the  many  ? 

JEANNE 

My  Voices  said,  "  Choose  boldly,"  and  I  knew. 

CHARLES 
What  voices,  Jeanne  ? 


86  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JEANNE 

You  must  believe  in  me 
To  hear  them. 

CHARLES 

Tell  me  ;  is  it  known  of  them 
Or  thee  —  this  doubt  which  is  my  stain  and  cancer  ? 

JEANNE 

That  doubt  is  as  the  darkness  of  the  blind 
Which  is  not. 

CHARLES 
[Feverishly.] 
Is  not  ?     Oh,  give  me  the  sign  ! 

JEANNE 

You  must  believe  before  you  may  behold. 

CHARLES 

Look  in  my  eyes,  Jeanne ;  I  begin  to  see. 

JEANNE 

My  Dauphin  must  believe  ;  he  shall  believe. 

CHARLES 

\_Sinkingto  his  knees] 
The  crown ! 

JEANNE 
[Intense.] 
Believe ! 

CHARLES 

He  lifts  it. 

[The  clock  begins  to  chime.     In  the  same  instant,  the  sun- 
lit  form  of  the  Emperor  in  the  stained  glass  is  seen  to 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  87 

turn  toward  the  King — where  he  gazes  at  him  past  the 
face  of  Jeanne  —  and  to  hold  out  aloft  the  glowing  crown 
of  fleur-de-lis.  From  the  colonnade,  the  persons  of  the 
court  look  on,  whisper  together,  pointing  at  the  King, 
where  apparently  he  is  kneeling,  struck  with  adoration, 
at  the  feet  of  Jeanne.  D'Alenqon,  standing  forward  from 
the  rest  of  the  court,  is  intent  upon  Jeanne,  as,  with  the 
inward  light  of  a  vision  mirrored,  her  face  looks  down 
on  the  King  with  a  mighty  intensity. ~\ 

THE   EMPEROR  IN  THE  STAINED   GLASS 
\_Speaks  with  the  voice  of  St.  Michael ^\ 

Charles  the  Seventh ! 
Inheritor  of  France,  legitimate 
By  birth  — 

CHARLES 
\_MurmursI\ 

Legitimate ! 

THE  EMPEROR 

Behold  the  crown  — 

The  crown  of  Charlemagne  —  which  thou  shalt  wear 
At  Rheims.     This  is  the  Maid,  whom  God  hath  sent 
To  bring  thy  land  and  thee  deliverance. 

[As  the  chiming  ceases,  so  the  vision.     Charles  —  his  hands 
clasped —  rises  wildly  to  his  feet .] 

CHARLES 

Charlemagne !     Charlemagne  !     Thy  blood  is  vindi 
cated. 
My  lords,  this  is  the  Maid  of  God ! 


88  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JEANNE 

\_Staggering  slightly  as  with  faintness,  moves  toward  D'Alen* 
ton,  who  comes  to  her  sideJ} 

I  am  tired ; 
Thy  shoulder,  friend  ! 

CHARLES 

\Kneels  again,  his  arms  upraised  to  the  stained  glass. ~\ 
Charlemagne  ! 

D'ALENCON 

[As  Jeanne   rests  her  forehead  on  his  shoulder,  speaks  to 
himself  dreamily '.] 

Why,  'tis  a  child ! 


ACT   III 


JEANNE  D">ARC  89 


ACT   III 

SCENE  :  A  Meadow  before  the  Walls  of  Orleans. 
May  7,  1429. 

In  the  near  background  (occupying  a  large  part  of  the  scene) 
a  green  knoll  overlooks  the  not  distant  river  Loire 
flowing  toward  the  right,  and  a  part  of  the  city  wall, 
which  sweeps  beyond  view,  left  On  this  knoll  are  dis 
covered  Franciscan  friars  grouped  about  an  altar,  be 
side  which  floats  a  white  painted  banner,  sprinkled  with 
fleur-de-lis?-  One  of  these  friars,  PIGACHON,  is  dressed 
half  in  armour,  his  cassock  —  worn  over  a  steel  corslet — 
being  tucked  up,  thus  revealing  his  legs  encased  in  steel. 
On  the  left  of  the  scene  are  women,  old  men,  and  priests 
of  Orleans.  The  foreground  and  the  rest  of  the  adjacent 
meadow  are  thronged  with  French  officers  and  soldiery. 
In  the  midst  of  the  latter  (centre),  Jeanne  d 'Arc — in 
full  armour —  is  dictating  a  letter,  which  PASQUEREL,  her 
confessor,  transcribes  on  a  parchment. 


1  On  one  side  of  this  banner  (which,  authentically,  was  Jeanne's 
personal  standard)  is  depicted  —  on  the  ground  of  fleur-de-lis  —  Christ 
in  Glory,  holding  the  world  and  giving  His  benediction  to  a  lily,  held  by 
one  of  two  angels,  who  are  kneeling  at  each  side;  on  the  other  side 
the  figure  of  the  Virgin  and  a  shield  with  the  arms  of  France,  sup 
ported  by  two  angels. 

The  friars  also  have  in  their  charge  two  smaller  banners,  viz. :  one 
a  pennon,  on  which  is  represented  the  Annunciation;  the  other,  a 
banneret,  adorned  with  the  Crucifixion. 


90  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JEANNE 

"  King  of  England ;  and  you,  Duke  of  Bedford, 
who  call  yourself  Regent  of  the  Kingdom  of  France  ; 
you,  William  De  la  Pole,  Earl  of  Suffolk ;  John,  Lord 
Talbot ;  and  you,  Thomas  Lord  Scales,  Lieutenants 
of  the  same  duke ;  make  satisfaction  to  the  King  of 
Heaven ;  give  up  to  the  Maid,  who  is  sent  hither  by 
God,  the  keys  of  all  the  good  towns  in  France,  which 
ye  have  taken.  And  as  for  you,  archers,  companions- 
in-arms,  gentlemen,  and  others  who  are  before  this 
town  of  Orleans,  get  you  home  to  your  own  country 
by  God  His  command ;  and  if  this  be  not  done,  then 
once  more  will  we  come  upon  you  with  so  great  an 
ha,  ha  !  as  shall  be  remembered  these  thousand  years. 
Answer  now  if  ye  will  make  peace  in  this  city  of 
Orleans,  which  if  ye  do  not,  ye  may  be  reminded  on, 
to  your  much  hurt. 

Jhesus  Maria — Jehanne  la  Pucelle." 
Good  Pasquerel,  I  know  not  A  nor  B ; 
Where  shall  I  make  my  cross  ? 

PASQUEREL 

Here,  Angelique. 

[Jeanne  makes  her  cross  on  the  parchment,  which  she  then 

rolls  tight  and  ties  to  an  arrow. ~\ 

JEANNE 

De  Metz,  ride  to  the  bridge  and  shoot  this  arrow 
Across  the  Loire  into  the  English  lines.  — 
Wait,  aim  it  toward  the  tower  of  the  Tournelles 
Into  the  conning-shaft  where  Suffolk  stands. 

DE  METZ 

And  if  they  make  no  answer  ? 


JEANNE  D^ARC  9 1 

JEANNE 

We  have  fought 

Since  daybreak.     We  can  fight  again  till  dark  ; 
And  after  that  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow. 
\_Exit  De  Metz,  with  the  arrow,  amid  shouts  of  the  people 
and  soldiers .] 

DUNOIS 

Your  words  are  brave,  Pucelle,  and  they  are  holy; 
But  holy  words  are  weak  against  stone  walls. 
The  English  fortress  is  too  strong  for  us. 

LA  HIRE 

Now  by  the  hang'd  thieves  of  Gethsemane  ! 

JEANNE 

[Sternly.] 
Gascon ! 

LA  HIRE 

Forgive,  my  captain  :  by  my  stick  ! 
I  swear  to  God  I  swore  but  by  my  stick. 
You  said  a  man  might  curse  upon  his  stick. 

JEANNE 

You  do  well  to  bethink  you,  Marshal ;  mind, 
Who  spits  'gainst  Heaven,  it  falleth  on  his  head. 

[Pulling  his  ear  with  her  hand.~\ 
But  thou  art  my  brave  Growler  for  all  that ! 

[Jeanne  passes  to  speak  earnestly  to  other  officers^ 

LA  HIRE 

Now  by  my  stick,  Dunois,  without  offence, 
Thou  liest  in  thy  windpipe  and  thy  gorge 


92  JEANNE  D^ARC 

To  say  the  English  walls  are  made  of  stone ; 
And  if  the  Maid  of  God  shall  say  the  word, 
By  supper-time  we'll  roll  'ern  out  as  flat 
As  apple-jacks,  with  English  blood  for  syrup. 

DUNOIS 

Truly  the  Maid  of  God  hath  wrought  strange  things 
Yet  there  be  bounds  — 

LA  HIRE 

Eight  days  !     Eight  days  !  Dunois, 
Since  she  set  foot  in  Orleans,  and  look  now ! 
The  enemy  that  hemmed  you  in  a  web 
Of  twenty  fortresses  now  holds  but  one. 

DUNOIS 

But  that  one  —  the  Tournelles  ! 

LA  HIRE 

And  think  ye,  then, 

That  she  who  turns  French  poodles  into  lions, 
And  changes  British  mastiffs  into  hares, 
Will  find  it  difficult  to  change  yon  tower 
Into  a  sugar-loaf  ?     I  tell  thee,  man, 
She  is  from  God,  and  doth  whatso  she  will. 

JEANNE 

\To  D'Alen$on,  who  in  his  armour  stands  reading^ 
A  book,  my  knight  ?    And  your  good  sword  yet  hot  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

The  war-horse,  Jeanne,  still  craves  his  manger-oats.  — 

My  book  is  a  little  island  in  the  battle, 

And  I  am  moored  alongside  in  this  lull 

To  barter  with  strange  natives  —  deeds,  for  dreams 

Of  deeds. 


JEANNE  D 'ARC  93 

JEANNE 
Is  it  the  holy  gospel  ? 

D'ALENCON 

No. 

JEANNE 

Whereof,  then,  do  you  read  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

Of  you,  Madonna ! 

When  you  were  virgin-queen  of  Attica, 
And  all  your  maiden  Amazons  in  arms 
Hailed  you  "  Hippolyta." 

JEANNE 

[Putting  from  him  the  book,  hands  him  his  sword  with  a 
friendly  smile. ~] 

This  is  your  sword, 

My  bonny  duke ;  and  this  dear  ground  is  France. 
I  know  naught  of  your  queens  and  "anticas." 

A  PRIEST 
\_In  the  crowd.~\ 
Jeanne !     Jeanne  the  Maid ! 

JEANNE 

Who  calls  me  ? 

THE  PRIEST 

Speak  to  us  — 
What  of  the  battle  ? 

SEVERAL  VOICES 

Tell  us  !     Speak  to  us  ! 


94  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JEANNE 

Good  folk,  you  hearts  of  Orleans,  holy  fathers ! 
What  would  you  that  I  tell  you  ? 

SEVERAL  VOICES 

Prophesy ! 

JEANNE 

Ah,  friends,  if  you  would  hear  of  bloody  stars, 
Of  sun-dogs,  and  of  mare's  tails  in  the  dawn, 
Go  to  your  gossips  and  your  weather-wives ; 
'Tis  ours  to  fight  and  God's  to  prophesy. 
Yet  what  our  Lord  hath  spoken  by  His  Saints 
To  me,  I  speak  to  you  again  :  be  glad, 
For  not  in  vain,  good  men,  have  you  stood  strong 
And  shared  your  loaves  of  famine,  crumb  by  crumb, 
To  man  your  walls  against  our  wicked  foe ; 
And  not  in  vain,  mothers  of  Orleans,  you 
Have  rocked  your  cradles  by  the  cannon's  side 
To  bring  your  sons  and  husbands  ease  of  sleep ; 
For  you  have  kept  this  city  for  your  Lord, 
Which  is  the  King  of  Heaven,  and  He  hath  come 
To  recompense  you  now.     Therefore,  return 
Within  your  gates  again,  and  when  you  hear, 
Thrice  blown,  upon  this  horn,  God's  warning  blast, 
Then  ring  your  bells  for  France  and  victory. 

\To  her  page ^ 
Louis,  the  horn ! 

[Louis  DE  CONTES  blows  the  horn  once."] 

So  shall  you  know  His  sign. 
[  The  people  depart  with  gestures  of  benediction  and  hope.~] 


JEANNE  D^ARC  95 

D'ALENgON 

[Standing  with  La  Hire,  near  Jeanne."] 
A  child !  and  her  clear  eyes,  upturned  to  Heaven, 
Shall  influence  the  stars  of  all  the  ages. 

\_Clutching  his  companion's  arm.~] 
La  Hire !   We  are  living  now,  can  watch,  can  serve  her ! 

LA  HIRE 

Aye,  folk  that  live  in  other  times  are  damned. 
\_An  altar  bell  sounds.~\ 

PIGACHON 
[To  Jeanne. ~\ 
The  Vespers,  Angelique. 

JEANNE 

Soldiers,  the  Mass ! 

And  let  all  you  that  have  confessed  yourselves 
This  day,  kneel  down,  and  let  the  rest  depart 
Until  confession. 

\_All  kneel,  save  some  few,  who  depart,  abashed.     Among 
these  is  D^Alen$on,  whom  Jeanne  stays  wistfully. ~\ 

You,  my  duke  ? 
D'ALENgON 

I  am 

A  tardy  Christian,  Jeanne. 

JEANNE 

I  pray  you  kneel 

Beside  me.     My  good  Pasquerel  will  hear  you. 
\_D^Alenc,on  kneels  beside  Jeanne  and  Pasquerel ;  Pigachon 
among  the  friars  is  about  to  conduct  the  service  at  the 


96  JEANNE  D^ARC 

altar,  when  De  Metis  voice  is  heard  calling  (off  right), 
and  he  enters,  followed  immediately  by  an  English  Her 
ald,  who,  bearing  himself  defiant,  holds  in  his  hand  a 
parchment.~\ 

DE  METZ 
Jeanne  !  —  Maid  of  God  ! 

THE  ENGLISH   HERALD 

Where  is  the  whore  of  France  ? 
[The  kneeling  soldiers  start  up  in  turbulence^ 

SOLDIERS 
La  Mort !    La  Mort ! 

JEANNE 
[Keeping  them  back.~\ 

Peace  !     Let  the  herald  speak ; 
His  privilege  is  sacred.     (To  D'Aletifori)     Stop  them. 

HERALD 

Where 
Is  she  who  calls  herself  the  Maid  of  God  ? 

JEANNE 
I  am  the  Maid. 

HERALD 

[Speaking,  but  at  times  referring  with  his  eyes  to  the  parch 
ment^ 

Thus  saith  my  Lord,  the  King 
Of  England,  by  his  servant  Suffolk,  Captain 
Before  the  walls  of  Orleans  :  Whore  of  France  — 

D'ALEN£ON 
Death !  — 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  97 

JEANNE 
[Clings  to  him.~\ 

Stay !     He  speaks  not  for  himself,  but  Suffolk  ; 
His  cloth  is  holy. 

D'ALENgON 
[Bitterly.] 
Holy! 

HERALD 

Courtesan 

Of  him  who  shames  the  blood  of  Charlemagne, 
Consort  of  Satan,  which  hast  ta'en  the  limbs 
And  outward  seeming  of  a  peasant  wench 
To  execute  thy  damned  sorceries 
On  England's  sons,  to  please  thy  paramour  — 

JEANNE 

[To  the  soldiers,  who  grow  more  clamorous^ 
Yet  patience,  gardens  ! 

HERALD 

Thou  unvirgin  thing, 

Which  art  vaingloried  in  the  garb  of  man  ; 
Thou  impudent,  thou  subtle,  thou  unclean  — 

JEANNE 

[Choking  back  the  tears."] 
No,  no  !     Thou  hast  forgot  what  thou  shouldst  say  ! 

HERALD 

Thus  fling  we  back  thy  poison 'd  script  unread, 
And  therewith  this  defiance  :  Work  thy  worst, 
And  with  the  hand  of  strange  paralysis 


98  JEANNE  D"> ARC 

Strike  numb  with  fear  our  noble  English  host ; 
Yet  shall  we  still  resist  thee  with  our  souls, 
And  in  the  day  when  Christ  shall  let  thee  fall 
Within  our  power,  then  shalt  thou  make  amends 
In  fire  for  all  thy  witchcraft,  and  in  fire 
Shall  thy  unhallow'd  spirit  return  to  hell. 

D'ALEN£ON 

Hold,  gentlemen  !     Wait  yet  if  he  have  done 
This " holy  privilege"  of  infamy. 

HERALD 

Sir,  I  am  done. 

\_D 'Alenqon,  taking  the  little  pennon  of  the  Annunciation 
from  a  friar,  hands  it  to  the  Herald. ~\ 

D'ALEN£ON 

Take,  then,  this  back  with  you 
In  token  who  it  is  whom  you  profane. 
Lock  it  within  your  fortress'  strongest  tower, 
And  tell  your  masters  that  a  simple  maid 
Of  France  shall  fetch  it  home,  this  night,  to  Orleans. 
[Exit  Herald  with  pennon.     The  soldiers  mutter  applause 
and  execrations^ 

JEANNE 

[Hiding  her  face,  turns  to  D'Alen$on.~\ 
What  have  I  done  that  they  should  name  me  so  ? 

LA  HIRE 
Par  mon  baton  !     We'll  answer  them  in  blood. 

DUNOIS 
Your  places,  officers ! 


JEANNE  D^ARC  99 

JEANNE 
[Starts  to  Pigachon  and  the  soldiers^\ 

The  psalm  !     Your  psalm  ! 

[Pigachon  and  the  friars  raise  the  chant  of  the  hymn  of 
Charlemagne.  This  is  immediately  taken  up  by  all  the 
soldiers ',  who,  under  its  influence,  pass  out  in  solemn  en 
thusiasm,  led  by  D' Alenqon  and  Jeanne,  the  latter  carry 
ing  in  her  hand  the  banneret  with  the  Crucifixion^ 

ALL 

Veni  creator  spiriius, 
Mentes  tuorum  visita, 
Imple  superna  gratia 
Quce  tu  creasti  pectora. 

[There  now  remain  behind  only  Pasquerel  and  the  Franciscan 
friars,  grouped  around  Jeanne's  standard  of  the  fleur- 
de-lis.  These  continue  the  chant  in  a  low  tone,  as  the 
voices  of  the  soldiers  grow  fainter  in  the  distance^ 

FRIARS 

Qui  paraclitus  diceris 
Donum  Dei  altissimi 
Fons  vivus,  ignis,  caritas 
Et  spiritalis  unctio. 

Hostem  repellas  longius 
Pacemque  dones  protinus, 
Ductore  sic  te  pravio 
Vitemus  omne  noxium. 

[During  the  last  verses  Pasquerel,  having  examined  the 
banner  critically,  fetches  a  copper  box,  opens  it,  lays  out 
some  sewing  and  painting  materials,  lowers  the  banner, 


1 00  JEANNE  D  ^ 

and  bends  over  it  solicitously.  With  the  last  words  of 
the  chanty  a  serene  quiet  falls  upon  the  knoll,  save  when, 
from  time  to  time,  contrasting  sounds  of  the  distant 
battle  interrupt,  or  fill  the  pauses  of  the  conversation 
'  between  Pasquerel  and  PigachonJ] 

PASQUEREL 

Reach  me  my  palette  yonder,  Pigachon. 

Our  Lord  hath  something  scathed  his  brow  and  lip 

I'  the  last  melee,  and  one  of  his  white  lilies 

Is  smirched  with  river-slime.     Take  you  my  needle 

And  hem  this  ravell'd  edge,  whilst  I  retouch 

The  Saviour's  robe  and  face. 

PIGACHON 

The  crimson  silk 
Or  white  ? 

PASQUEREL 

The  white  is  better  for  the  hem. 
Now  for  our  Lord,  what  say  you  ?  —  to  the  lip 
A  touch  of  Garence  rose?     I  much  prefer 
Myself,  for  blush  and  richness  of  the  blood, 
A  Garence  rose  dorte  to  cinnabar  ; 
Yet  thereof  Master  Fra  Angelico 
Of  Florence  might  be  critical. 

PIGACHON 
^Threading  his  needle. ~\ 

May  be. 

PASQUEREL 

Well,  masters  think  not  two  alike. 
\_Givinga  touchl\ 

Voila  ! 


JEANNE  D^ARC  IOI 

[Silence,  and  the  distant  battle.~\ 
Saw  you  the  mauve  and  pink  geraniums 
In  Brother  Michel's  hot-bed  ? 

PIGACHON 

Wonderful ! 

PASQUEREL 

He  waters  them  at  prime  and  curfew. 

PIGACHON 

Ha! 

[Silence  again  ;  the  two  friars  work  on.  ] 

PASQUEREL 
[Suddenly.'} 

I  have  it,  Pigachon  !  It  comes  to  me  ! 
To  touch  this  lily's  petal-tips  with  rose 
In  token  that  it  bleeds. 

PIGACHON 

Why  does  it  bleed  ? 

PASQUEREL 

But  thou  art  mule-brain'd,  Pigachon.     Know,  then, 
It  bleeds  for  sorrow  of  its  little  sisters, 
The  fleur-de-lis  of  France,  because  they  lie 
Bleeding  and  trampled  by  the  fiends  of  England. 

PIGACHON 

Ah! 

PASQUEREL 

Yet  perchance  the  Maid  might  disapprove. 

PIGACHON 

May  be. 


102  JEANNE  D  ' 

PASQUEREL 


Well,  well  ;  I  will  not  make  it  bleed. 
\_Enter,  amid  louder  cries  from  the  battle,  Louis  de   Conies 
with  two  men,  fettered^ 

LOUIS 
Your  name  ? 

THE  FIRST   MAN 

John  Gris,  Knight  to  the  King  of  England. 

LOUIS 

Yours  ? 

THE  OTHER 

Adam  Goodspeed,  yeoman. 

LOUIS 

John  Gris,  Knight, 

And  Adam  Goodspeed,  yeoman,  you  are  bound 

As  prisoners  to  Louis,  called  De  Contes, 

Page  to  God's  maiden  Jeanne,  called  La  Pucelle. 

GRIS 

Sith  God  hath  dropped  us  in  the  Devil's  clutch, 
His  will  be  done. 

GOODSPEED 
Amen. 

PASQUEREL 

^Springing  up  from    his    paints,   stares   off  scene   (righf), 
appalled^ 

O  dolorosa  ! 

[Enter  D'Alenc^on,  supporting  Jeanne,  and  followed  by  La 
Hire  and  a  group  of  soldiers.^ 


JEANNE  D  'ARC  103 

D'ALEN£ON 

Go  back,  La  Hire  :  let  not  this  thing  be  known. 
\_Exeunt  La  Hire  and  soldiers.~\ 

JEANNE 

Where  is  my  standard  ?    Rest  me  here. 

D'ALEN£ON 

The  gates 
Are  but  a  little  farther. 

JEANNE 

In  God's  name 

I  will  not  leave  the  field.  —  My  standard  ! 
\_She  sinks  down  beside  it.~\ 

D'ALEN£ON 
\_To  Louis.  ~] 

Run! 
Fetch  from  the  town  a  litter. 

\_To  Pasquerel.~\ 

Have  you  oil  ? 

Prepare  a  heated  compress  for  the  wound  ; 
She  is  stricken  and  may  die. 

[Louis,  after  fastening  his  prisoners  to  a  log  (left),  departs 
with  a  friar.  Pasquerel,  after  lighting  a  charcoal 
brazier,  begins  with  D^Alenc^orfs  help  to  tear  and  fold  a 


JEANNE 
[Faintly,  .] 

Good  Pigachon  ! 

PIGACHON 

You  called  me,  Angelique  ? 


1 04  JEANNE  D  ^ 


JEANNE 

Go  to  my  men 
And  tell  them  I  am  well. 

PIGACHON 
\_Dubious.~] 

A  lie  ? 

JEANNE 

A  little, 

A  white  lie  :  God  will  make  of  it  a  star 
To  shine  on  Orleans  when  she  is  delivered. 

PIGACHON 

I  go. 

[Exit  right.} 

PASQUEREL 
[Looking  after  him.} 
Would  /  might  tell  a  lie  for  her ! 

JEANNE 

No,  dear  my  bonny  duke,  you  shall  not  touch ; 
I'll  pluck  it  out  myself. 

D'ALENCON 

Thou  must  not,  Jeanne  ; 
The  barb  hath  sunken  deep  ;   thou  art  but  a  girl. 

JEANNE 

I  am  a  soldier.  —  Think  you  it  will  bleed  ? 
Ah,  Heaven,  if  it  should  bleed ! 

D'ALENCON 

[As  Jeanne,  turning  away,  clutches  at  her  side. ~\ 

What  dost  thou  ? 


JEANNE  D'ARC  105 

JEANNE 

See, 

There  is  the  arrow.     I  will  keep  my  eyes 
A  little  shut  — 

D'ALENgON 

She's  dying,  Pasquerel ; 

She's  torn  the  arrow  forth  with  her  own  hand. 
Help  me  to  bear  her  to  the  city  gate. 

PASQUEREL 
She  said  beside  her  standard. 

D'ALEN£ON 

But,  thou  sot 

Of  superstition,  she  is  dying.     Are 
Her  wishes  dearer  to  thee  than  her  life  ? 

PASQUEREL 

She  is  from  God. 

D'ALENgON 

O  idiotic  phrase! 

We  soldiers  babble  it  like  paraquets, 
And  let  a  child  —  this  brave  and  dreamy  girl  — 
Die  in  the  sacrifice  for  us  —  for  us  ! 
Jeanne,  thou  must  live  —  Jeanne  !    Though  all  France 

shall  find 
Perdition,  thou  must  live ! 

PASQUEREL 

Unholy  words ! 
She  lives  for  France. 

D'ALENgON 
[Eagerly,  as  Jeanne  lifts  her  head."] 

She  lives  ;  it  is  enough  ! 


106  JEANNE  D^ARC 

JEANNE 

\Faintly  to  &Alen$on.'\ 
Good  neighbour,  say  to  him  I  had  to  come. 

D'ALEN£ON 

To  whom  ? 

JEANNE 

My  father.     You  will  tell  him  ? 

D'ALENgON 

Truly. 

JEANNE 

You  know,  we  have  two  fathers ;  one's  in  heaven. 
We  must  obey  the  greater.  —  Was  he  angry  ? 

D'ALENgON 

I  think  he  was  not  angry. 

JEANNE 

That  is  strange ; 

His  scowl  is  terrible,  and  yet  he  loves  us  : 
My  brother  Pierre  and  me  the  most,  I  think. 
What  did  he  do  the  day  I  went  away  ? 

D'ALENgON 

Dost  thou  not  know  me,  Jeanne  ? 

JEANNE 

I  know  thee  well 

Thou  art  the  face  that  comes  to  my  closed  eyes, 
And  in  the  darkness  there  I  speak  to  it.  — 
I  knew  my  mother  she  would  understand, 
For  often  I  told  her  how  my  Voices  said 
That  I  must  crown  the  King,  and  she  would  smile, 
But  always  Papa  Jacques  he  scowled. 


JEANNE  D^ARC  IO? 

D'ALENCON 

Now  gently ; 

Rest  back  upon  my  arm  ;  this  is  thy  friend 
D'Alengon.  —  So! 

\Pasquerel  and  D'Alen^on  put  upon  her  the  compress .] 

JEANNE 

My  mother  hurts  me  here. 
They  said  it  was  an  arrow  in  my  side, 
But  I  knew  well  it  was  the  homesickness, 
And  so  I  plucked  it  out,  and  gave  't  to  him 
My  Lord,  because  it  had  no  business  there. 

D'ALEN£ON 

To  me  you  gave  it,  Jeanne,  not  to  your  Lord. 

JEANNE 

And  are  you  not  His  knight  whom  God  hath  sent 

To  be  my  shield  in  battle  ?  —  Verily 

I  leaned  upon  your  shoulder  at  Chinon 

When  I  was  weary  and  the  world  grew  dim.  — 

Thou  art  D'Alengon  and  my  bonny  duke. 

\_Reenter  (left}  Louis  and  the  friar  with  a  litter.  ~\ 

D'ALENCON 

I  am  your  servant,  and  must  bear  you  now 
Back  to  the  town. 

DISTANT  CRIES 

La  Puce  lie!     Au  secours  ! 

JEANNE 

You  hear !     I  cannot  go.     They  call  for  me. 
Fetch  me  my  horse. 


108  JEANNE  &ARC 

D'ALENgON 
Madonna,  you  may  die. 

JEANNE 

I  may  not  die  before  I  have  performed 

My  Lord's  commandment ;  they  have  told  me  so. 

D'ALENCON 

Who  told  ? 

JEANNE 

My  Voices. 

D'ALENgON 

Jeanne,  for  love  of  France 
And  truth  and  thy  dear  soul,  lose  not  thy  life 
For  vanities  and  whisperings  of  the  air. 

JEANNE 

Know  you  whereof  you  speak  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

I  speak  of  nothing, 
For  they  are  naught. 

JEANNE 

My  holy  counsel  —  naught ! 

D'ALEN£ON 

Do  not  believe  them,  Jeanne.     They  are  delusions. 
Forgive  me !     I  must  speak  the  truth  to  save 
Thy  life. 

JEANNE 

If  this  were  true,  O  better  death ! 
But  listen ! 

\The  Franciscans  about  the  altar  are  beginning  to  move  it 
from  the  knoll  to  the  level  ground  (on  the  left)I\ 


JEANNE  D^ARC  109 

D'ALENCON 
\Persuadingly,  bending  near  her.~\ 

Come  now  with  me.     Be  a  good  girl. 

JEANNE 

Listen,  my  duke. 

D'ALENCON 

'Tis  but  a  friar,  bearing 
The  altar  bell. 

A  VOICE 

[Speaks  with  the  bell,  which  sounds  momentarily  as  the  friar 
moves  //.] 

Daughter  of  God,  be  strong. 

JEANNE 

[  Gazing  before  her  into  PasquereVs  lighted  brazier  I\ 
It  is  her  voice ;  it  is  St.  Catherine. 
See  in  the  little  flames  how  small  she 'shines 
And  flutters  like  a  moth  mid  peonies. 
But  holy  saints  fear  not  to  singe  their  wings 
In  fire.     You  see,  she  is  not  frightened. 

PASQUEREL 
[Sinks t  murmuring,  to  his  knees.] 

Pater, 
Sanctum  sit  nomen  tuum. 

GOODSPEED 
[To  Gris.] 

Turn  thine  eyes 
Away !     The  witch  beginneth  her  hell  charms. 

JEANNE 

[Rising  to  her  feet.~\ 
Thou  dear  St.  Catherine,  I  will  be  strong ! 


1 1 0  JEANNE  D  ''ARC 

PASQUEREL 
[71?  D'Aknfon.] 
And  will  you  now  believe  ? 

D'ALENCON 

This  is  a  strength 

Unnatural,  a  fever  from  the  wound. 
Jeanne  — 

JEANNE 

Look,  D'Alengon,  look,  they  leave  the  bridge ! 
Our  men  have  turned.     Alas  !    They  are  beaten  back. 
{Enter  La  Hire,  beside  himself I\ 

LA  HIRE 
[Raising  both  arms  to  heaven, .] 

Lord  God,  I  pray  Thee,  do  Thou  for  La  Hire 
What  he  would  do  for  Thee,  if  he  were  God, 
And  Thou,  God,  wert  La  Hire ! 

D'ALENCON 

What  news,  and  quickly ! 

LA  HIRE 

News  for  the  rats  and  skunks  of  Europe  !     News 
For  dancing  apes  and  Master  Rigadoons  ! 
Dunois  himself  hath  bade  our  men  retreat, 
And  me,  La  Hire,  to  tell  it ! 

CRIES 
{Outside  (right').'] 

To  the  gates ! 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 1 1 

JEANNE 

[Looking  toward  the  battle  I\ 
Dunois,  Dunois,  thou  hast  offended  me. 

CRIES 
[  Outsidel\ 
The  gates  ! 

D'ALENCON 

Our  men  —  they  come.  —  Jeanne,  you  will  fall. 
Stay !  —  I  will  rally  them. 

JEANNE 

[  Climbing  faintly  the  knoll,   as    D^Alengon  comes  to    her 
supportl\ 

Still  be  my  shield. 
\_Enter  Dunois  and  the  French  soldiery,  in  routl\ 

CRIES 
The  gates  of  Orleans  ! 

JEANNE 

[From  the  knoll,  speaking  from  D'Alen$on's   arms,  which 

uphold  her,  stays  the  routl\ 

Halt! 

CRIES 

The  Maid !     The  Maid  ! 

JEANNE 

Who  hath  commanded  you  this  thing  ? 

DUNOIS 

Jeanne  d'Arc, 
The  English  fortress  is  impregnable. 


1 1 2  JEANNE  D  ^ 

JEANNE 

Dunois,  heaven's  fortress  is  impregnable 
By  souls  of  gentlemen  who  turn  their  backs. 

DUNOIS 
You  fell ;  we  saw  how  you  were  wounded,  Maid. 

JEANNE 

And  ye  beheld  not  One  who  did  not  fall : 
Shame,  captains  of  France !     Have  ye  not  heard 
"  Better  a  dog's  head  than  a  lion's  tail  "  ? 
Back  to  the  bridge  and  show  your  teeth  again ! 
Back  to  the  bridge  and  show  to  God  your  eyes ! 

SOLDIERS 

Back  to  the  bridge ! 

JEANNE 

My  banner,  dear  my  duke ! 
Come,  we  will  go  together,  hand  in  hand.  — 
Children  of  France,  behold  your  fleur-de-lis  ! 
Thou,  Louis,  stay,  and  when  thou  shalt  have  seen 
This  banner  touch  the  English  walls  —  thy  horn ! 
Blow  it  at  Orleans'  gate  :  the  siege  is  raised ! 
Follow  your  lilies  now,  brave  boys  of  France ! 
Your  lilies  !     Christ  the  Lord  doth  captain  you. 
Ten  thousand  of  his  host  surround  us.     See  ! 
The  sun  goes  down  through  archings  of  their  wings, 
The  river  burns  and  eddies  with  their  swords. 
Work,  work,  and  God  will  work  !    Follow  the  lilies 
And  shoot  your  arrows  straight.  — Jhesus-Maria  ! 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 1 3 

SOLDIERS 

Jhesus-  Maria  !  —  St.  Denis  !     La  France  ! 
\_Exeunt  all  but  Louis  de  Contes,  in  the  foreground  (right), 
and  the  two  English  prisoners  tied,  on  the  left,  below  the 
knoll.     The  Franciscans  have  been  led  away  by  Pas- 
querel  toward  the  town,  carrying  with  them  the  altar •.] 

GRIS 

I  looked  long  in  her  face.     Gentle  it  seemed 
And  beautiful. 

GOODSPEED 

So  did  the  serpent's  seem 
In  Adam's  garden.  Oh,  the  fiend  is  wise, 
And  in  a  witch's  face  most  damned  fair. 

GRIS 
Indeed,  the  spell  of  her  is  strange  upon  me. 

[To  Louis.'] 
Where  is  her  banner  now  ? 

LOUIS 

I  cannot  see ; 

The  low  sun  hurts  my  eyes ;  which  way  I  look 
It  stares  me  like  a  monstrous  waning  moon 
Winked  on  the  blood-red  clouds  of  rolling  dust 

GOODSPEED 

More  like  it  be  the  many-headed  face 
Of  Satan  mocking  us. 

LOUIS 

The  lilies,  there ! 
The  Maid!    The  Maid! 


1 14  JEANNE  D  'ARC 

GRIS 
What !  do  we  drive  her  back  ? 

LOUIS 
She  drives  you  from   the  bridge.     Her  armour!  — 

Now  — 

Oh,  she  is  blown  about  and  fluttered  o'er 
By  clouds  of  little  golden  butterflies, 
And  where  she  thrusts  her  lilied  banner  through, 
She  glitters  double  —  in  the  air  and  river. 

GOODSPEED 

Her  fiends  are  blown  up  from  the  underworld 
To  succour  her. 

GRIS 

[Kneeling.] 
This  spell  upon  me ! 

LOUIS 

Ah! 

They  hurl  you  from  the  drawbridge.     Christ !     You 

drown. 

Yonder  her  banner  and  the  fleur-de-lis  ! 
The  Maid  hath  touched  the  walls.     Vive  la  France  ! 

[Rushing  up  the  knoll,  Louis  turns  toward  Orleans  and 
winds  his  horn  three  times.  In  an  instant,  from  the 
left,  a  clamour  of  horns  and  shouts  and  bells  reply. 
Away,  on  the  right,  the  iron  din  of  the  battle  is  still 
heard.  Behind  the  knoll's  outline  burns  the  bright  red 
of  sunset ;  against  that,  raising  his  horn,  stands  out 
the  tense,  lithe  silhouette  of  the  little  page.] 


ACT   IV 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 1 5 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I :  Before  the  walls  of  Troyes.     July  5, 
1429.     Night. 

On  the  left  (up  scene),  partly  surrounded  by  cypress  trees, 
the  entrance  of  a  pavilion-like  tent  (extending  off  scene, 
left)  is  closed  by  a  mediceval  tapestry.  At  centre,  beneath 
the  trees,  stand  two  benches  of  wood,  one  higher  than 
the  other.  On  the  right,  a  stack  of  arms,  and  behind 
that  vague  outlines  of  a  camp.  Throughout  the  scene's 
action,  from  time  to  time,  officers  and  guards  of  the 
French  army  pass  by,  or  are  visible  in  their  battle-gear, 
as  portions  of  the  scene.  After  the  rising  of  the  moon, 
the  walls  and  towers  of  the  town  are  dimly  visible  in 
the  background. 

Enter,  right,  La  Tremouille  and  CAUCHON,  the  latter  in  the 
garb  of  a  layman. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

That  is  her  tent ;  those  reddish  stars,  that  move, 
Are  sentries  on  the  city  ramparts.     Troyes 
Still  shuts  its  gates  against  the  Maid,  the  last 
To  stand  between  Charles  and  his  crown  at  Rheims. 

CAUCHON 

He  will  be  crowned  ? 

LA   TREMOUILLE 

We  hope  yet  to  prevent. 
You  heard  me  speak  of  Brother  Richard,  here, 


1  1  6  JEANNE  D  ^ 

Staying  in  Troyes.     He  is  a  preaching  friar, 

A  kind  of  mendicant  Demosthenes 

Who  holds  the  keys  of  power  between  his  teeth, 

And  locks  or  opes  the  city  with  his  tongue. 

To-night  he  is  coming  to  interview  the  Maid 

To  ascertain  whether  she  be  from  God. 

On  that  the  town's  surrender  will  depend. 

CAUCHON 

So  then  —  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

I  think  I  have  forestalled  the  Maid. 
A  certain  Catherine  de  la  Rochelle  — 
But  never  mind.     Our  point  is  this  :  that  you 
Stand  ready,  when  I  will,  to  yield  Jeanne  d'Arc 
Into  the  English  hands,  to  burn  for  witchcraft. 

CAUCHON 

To  burn  by  course  of  law. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 


By  law,  of  course  ! 
[Enter  at  back  De  Chartres,  followed  by  FLAW.] 

DE  CHARTRES 
[Investigating  with  a  torch?[ 
Your  Grace  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  Cauchonl\ 

Ah,  'tis  our  man. 

[To  De   Chartres.'} 

You've  brought  him  ? 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 1 7 

DE  CHARTRES 
\_Revealing  Flavy^ 

There. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Here  is  our  honest  bishop  from  Beauvais, 
Pierre  Cauchon. 

CAUCHON 

[Indicating  his  disguise.] 
Ex  officio,  my  lords ! 

DE  CHARTRES 

Your  secret  shall  be  safe  with  us.  —  This,  sirs, 
Is  Marshal  Flavy. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  Flavy. ~\ 
From  Compiegne  ? 

FLAW 

I  am 

Commander  at  Compi&gne. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  De  Chartres.1 

He  knows  the  plan  ? 

FLAW 

I  am  to  ask  the  help  immediate 
Of  Jeanne  the  Maid  against  the  enemy 
That  threaten  my  city. 

DE  CHARTRES 

I  explained  to  him 
How  this  good  friend  (indicates  Cauchon}  will  see  to 

it  that  the  English 

Shall  know  the  proper  moment  to  attack 
And  lure  the  Maid  to  fight  outside  the  walls. 


1 1 8  JEANNE  D  ' 

FLAW 

A  few  French  troopers  will  pass  out  with  her, 
And  then  —  I  am  to  pull  the  drawbridge  up. 

CAUCHON 

She  shall  be  treated  by  us  justly,  sirs, 
By  process  of  the  law  for  heretics. 

DE  CHAKTRES 
She  is  coming  :  I  will  go. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

What!  not  afraid 
To  catch  a  second  ague  ? 

DE  CHARTRES 

In  her  presence 

All  policy  deserts  me,  I  grow  blind ; 
Once  was  enough. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Wait ;  we  will  go  along 

With  you  and  fetch  the  King  and  Brother  Richard. 
[Exeunt  La  Tremouille,  De  Chartres,  Cauchon,  and  Flavy 

(right}. 

Enter,  at  left  {down  scene] ,  Jeanne.  She  is  closely  followed 
by  a  group  of  various  persons, — women,  artisans,  gentle 
folk,  —  some  of  whom,  drawing  near,  touch  her  cloak, 
try  to  kiss  her  handsl\ 

SEVERAL  VOICES 
Holy  !  holy  !     Hear  us,  Maid  of  God  ! 

JEANNE 

Good  souls,  what  would  ye  ask  of  Jeanne  the  Maid  ?^ 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 1 9 

A  WOMAN 

\Holding  out  a  swaddled  bundlel\ 
My  babe  is  dead.  Her  little  body's  cold. 
Oh,  resurrect  her ! 

JEANNE 
[Tenderly.} 
Was  thy  child  baptized  ? 

THE  WOMAN 
Yes,  Angelique. 

JEANNE 

Then  do  not  cry  for  her, 
For  she  is  playing  now  at  Mary's  knee. 

ANOTHER  WOMAN 

Mine's  newly  born.     Be  godmother  to  him, 
That  he  may  prosper. 

JEANNE 
Let  his  name  be  Charles. 

A  COURTIER 
[Reaching  out  his  palm.~\ 
My  fortune,  Maid  !     When  shall  my  luck  change  ? 

JEANNE 

Your  luck  be  lame,  rub  it  with  elbow-grease. 

A  KNIGHT 

Jeanne  d' Arc,  my  master  sendeth  me  — 

JEANNE 

Who  is 

Your  master  ? 


1 20  JEANNE  D  ' 

THE  KNIGHT 

'Tis  a  nobleman  of  France, 
And  prays  you  tell  him  which  of  the  two  popes 
Of  Rome  or  Avignon  he  should  obey. 

JEANNE 

Tell  him  with  God  there  is  no  politics ; 

Let  him  serve  God.  —  Why  do  you  touch  your  rings 

To  mine,  good  people  ? 

AN  ARTISAN 

To  be  sanctified. 

JEANNE 

Oh,  do  not  touch  my  hands.     But  if  ye  seek 
Blessing,  go  home  and  kiss  the  old  tired  hands 
Of  your  good  mothers  that  have  toiled  for  you ; 
Come  not  to  me ;  good  night,  friends,  and  adieu ! 
\The  people   depart ;   Jeanne   stands    with   hands   clasped. 

Enter  from  the  tent  Louis  de  Contes;  seeing  her  thus, 

he  kneels  before  her,  worshipful.'] 
What  shall  I  do  ?  —  Ah,  Monseigneur  in  heaven, 
Protect  me  from  their  prayers  !     Let  not  this  folk 
Commit  idolatry  because  of  me, 
Nor  touch  this  body  as  a  saintly  thing. 
Guard  me,  you  dear  and  gracious  Voices  !  —  Still 
Why  do  I  think  on  what  my  duke  he  said : 
"  Do  not  believe  them,  Jeanne  !     They  are  delusions." 

\_Shudde  ring. ~\ 

Dear  God,  let  me  forget,  for  I  am  tired ; 
Let  Thy  work  be  fulfilled  and  take  me  home. 
{Seeing  Louis  on  his  knees,  she  drops  impetuously  beside  him.'] 
No,  no !     Not  thou,  my  Louis  ! 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 2 1 

LOUIS 

Angelique, 
Why  do  you  weep  ? 

[Enter  D'Alengon  through  the  cypresses  behind  them."] 

JEANNE 

The  night  —  how  great  it  is  ! 
And  we  —  how  little  and  how  weak  we  are ! 
That  star  is  shining  down  on  Domremy 
Between  the  pear-tree  boughs.     I  had  not  dreamed 
How  that  the  world  would  be  so  great  and  wide. 

LOUIS 

They  say  it  reacheth  even  beyond  Rome, 
Though  I  was  never  there. 

JEANNE 

It  matters  not ; 

It  lieth  all  within  Our  Lady's  arms.  — 
Tell  me,  my  Louis,  hast  thou  never  played 

At  knucklebone  ? 

LOUIS 

You  will  not  play  with  me ! 

JEANNE 

And  may  I  not  ? 

LOUIS 

But  you  — 

JEANNE 

Sometimes  we  play 
With  pebbles  ;  here  are  some. 

LOUIS 

But  you !     From  you 


122  JEANNE  D^ARC 

The  English  fled  at  Orleans,  and  to  you 

The  angels  speak  and  the  bright  saints  come  down ! 

JEANNE 

[Rising,  drops  the  pebbles  slowly  from  her  hand."} 
It  seemed  but  yesterday :  in  dear  Lorraine 
There  was  a  lass  with  a  red  petticoat, 
And  she  was  called  "  Jeannette." 

D'ALEN£ON 
[Coming  forward,  impetuous^ 

Madonna ! 

JEANNE 
\_Starts,  then  goes  to  himJ] 

Thou! 
[  Turning  backl\ 

Ah,  me  !     I  saw  it.     Why  did  you  stand  there  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

Where,  then  ? 

JEANNE 

Behind  you  !     Over  my  left  shoulder 
I  saw  it  rising,  pale. 

D'ALENgON 
[  Glancing  off  right.~\ 
The  moon ! 

JEANNE 

Tis  full. 
What  bad  news  have  you  brought  me  ? 

D'ALENCON 

I? 

JEANNE 

The  King ! 
What  of  the  King  ? 


JEANNE  D-> ARC  12 

D'ALEN^ON 

The  King  is  well. 

JEANNE 

But  thou  ? 
Thou  art  in  pain,  my  duke. 

D'ALEN£ON 
[Looking  at  her.~\ 

It  is  not  pain. 

JEANNE 
[To  Louis.'] 

Go  in  and  sleep.     When  I  have  need  of  thee, 
I'll  call. 

LOUIS 

I  will  nap  lightly,  Angelique. 
[Exit  into  tent.~] 

JEANNE 

Now,  now,  my  good  knight,  speak  out  plain  :  what 

news  ? 
I  cannot  bear  the  sadness  in  your  eyes. 

D'ALEN£ON 

There  is  a  sadness  which  belies  its  name 
And  grows  immeasurably  dear  to  joy. 
The  King  — 

JEANNE 

Ah! 

D'ALENgON 

He  is  coming  here  to-night 
To  speak  with  you. 


1 24  JEANNE  D  ''ARC 

JEANNE 

More  counsels  ?     In  God's  name, 
Let  us  not  hold  so  long  and  many  parleys 
But  march  short-cut  to  Rheims. 

D'ALEN£ON 

This  town  of  Troyes 
Holds  for  the  English  still. 

JEANNE 

It  will  surrender. 

D'ALEN£ON 

We  have  no  engines  for  the  siege. 

JEANNE 

I  have  sent 

For  Brother  Richard.     He  will  open  the  gates 
To-morrow ;  the  day  after,  we  shall  march 
Straight  on  to  Rheims. 

D'ALENgON 
Charles  will  not  march  to  Rheims. 

JEANNE 

What  shall  prevent  ? 

D'ALENgON 
A  vision  from  the  Lord. 

JEANNE 

D'Alengon  !  hath  the  King  beheld  a  vision  ? 

D'ALENgON 

I  did  not  say  the  King. 


JEANNE  D'ARC  125 

JEANNE 
Who,  then  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

A  woman. 

JEANNE 

O  bonny  duke,  why  art  thou  strange  with  me  ? 
Be  not  like  all  the  rest,  careful  and  slow. 
Speak  to  me  bold  and  plain. 

D'ALEN^ON 

Forgive  me,  Jeanne, 
My  soul,  too,  is  infected  with  this  air 
And  breathes  of  weakness,  innuendo,  doubt ; 
But  now,  like  thee,  I  will  be  bold  and  brief. 
The  woman  Catherine  de  La  Rochelle 
Hath  duped  the  Dauphin  to  believe  in  her 
That  she  hath  seen  a  vision  out  of  heaven, 
Declaring  thee  and  all  thy  Voices  false. 

JEANNE 
\_Scornf ully.~\ 

Ha,  by  St.  John  !     And  doth  she  think  to  fool 
My  King  vnfafi,foktfum  f 

D'ALEN£ON 

The  King  believes. 

JEANNE 
{Ardently. ~\ 

Of  course  my  King  believes. 


1 26  JEANNE  D  ^ 

D'ALENCON 

[Sbwty.] 

In  Catherine. 

\_A  pause :  from  off  right  come  distant  sounds  of  laughter, 
and  a  flickering  glow.~\ 

THE  VOICE  OF  CHARLES 
Walk  near  us  in  the  torch  light. 

D'ALENCON 

They  are  coming. 

Madonna,  do  not  let  that  scornful  fire 
Die  from  your  face.     For  such  apostasy 
There's  a  divine  contempt  which  makes  us  strong 
To  surfer  and  retaliate.     Take  heart ! 
What  matters  it  though  this  half -minded  prince 
Goes  begging  for  his  crown.  —  Dost  thou  not  hear  me  ? 

JEANNE 

To  build  and  build  and  build  on  running  sands  — 
How  terrible  it  must  be  to  be  God  ! 

[Reaching  to  D'Alenqon  her  two  hands. .] 
Think  you  I  shall  be  strong  enough,  my  duke  ? 

D'ALENCON 

Oh,  I  will  give  more  than  the  world  can  take, 
And  fill  the  gap  of  this  ingratitude 
With  burning  recompense.     Lean  thou  henceforth 
On  me  —  on  me  — 

THE  VOICE  OF  CHARLES 
[Amid  murmured  conversation^ 
Enchantress ! 


JEANNE  D'ARC 

JEANNE 

'Tis  my  King. 

Say  I  will  welcome  him  within  my  tent  — 
And  Catherine.     This  shall  be  overcome. 

D'ALENgON 

But  not  alone !     Let  me  stand  with  thee,  Jeanne. 

JEANNE 

Always  you  are  with  me.     When  I  close  my  eyes, 
You  lean  against  a  pillar  of  the  dark 
And  pore  upon  a  book.     You  do  not  speak, 
And  yet  I  know  whom  you  are  reading  of  — 
A  certain  queen  —  her  name  is  hard  to  learn. 

D'ALENgON 

Hippolyta ! 

JEANNE 

A  maiden-queen,  you  said. 

D'ALENgON 

In  Attica. 

JEANNE 

I  know  not  where ;  good  night ! 
Come  not ;  this  good  fight  will  I  make  alone. 

[  With  a  quick  pressure  of  D^Alen^on's  hand,  exit  Jeanne 
into  her  tent^\ 

D'ALENgON 
"  Always   you  are  with   me."  —  Did  she  say  those 

words, 

Or  am  I  dizzy  with  this  incense  of  her  ? 
"  Say  I  will  welcome  him  with  Catherine." 


1 28  JEANNE  D ^ 

What  will  she  do  ?    Well,  I  can  but  obey. 
"  Always  you  are  with  me ! "  Always,  always  !  Here — 
On  the  air,  this  moonlight,  everywhere  —  her  face 
Encounters  mine  in  glory. 

\Enter  Charles  and  CATHERINE  attended  by  torch-bearers 
and  followed  by  La  Tremouille,  BROTHER  RICHARD,  and 
Flavy.~\ 

CHARLES 
\To  Catherine,  holding  her  hand  and  gazing  at  her.'] 

Even  your  shadow 

Steals  splendour  from  the  moonlight  —  less  a  shadow 
Than  some  bright  spirit's  reflection. 

\He  kisses  her  fingers.] 

D'ALEN£ON 

God !    Can  that 

Which  leads  him  captive  be  akin  to  this 
Which  hallows  me  with  beauty  ? 

CATHERINE 

Charles  is  kind 
To  flatter  his  old  comrade  of  Chinon. 

CHARLES 

Chinon !  how  our  life-star  hath  changed  since  then ! 

Aye,  Dagobert  is  dead,  and  poor  King  Patch 

Is  now  a  prince  of  Europe,  thanks  to  —  thanks 

To  God's  aid  and  Saint  Charlemagne,  and  now 

Henceforth  to  you,  sweet  seeress.     Tell  me,  Kate, 

Of  this  white  lady  in  the  cloth-of-gold 

That  comes  to  you :  when  did  you  see  her  last  ? 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  129 

CATHERINE 

To-night :  her  limbs  were  lovely  as  first  snow, 

And  with  her  hand  she  touched  me  and  said,  "  Rise, 

And  seek  your  King,  and  go  forth  in  the  land, 

And  let  the  royal  trumpeters  ride  first 

And  blow  nine  blasts  before  you  in  each  town, 

And  lo !  all  buried  and  concealed  gold 

In  France  shall  straight  be  gathered  to  your  feet 

In  piles  of  glory.     Give  all  to  your  King, 

But  tell  him  to  beware  the  town  of  Rheims, 

For  if  he  enters  there,  my  power  is  spent. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Note  that,  your  Majesty  :  the  town  of  Rheims ! 
The  vision  warns  you  to  turn  back  from  Rheims. 

CHARLES 

We'll  make  this  known  to  Jeanne  and  change  our  plans 
Accordingly. 

{To  HAlen^on^ 

She's  here? 

D'ALENgON 

There,  in  her  tent, 
And  she  hath  bade  me  say  — 
[Pauses.] 

CHARLES 

What? 

D'ALENCON 
{Barely  restraining  his  emotion.~\ 

Nothing,  sire. 
{Exit  swi 

K 


1 30  JEANNE  D  ''ARC 

CHARLES 

[Looking  after  D'Alen$on    in  surprise,  turns  to  Catherine 
and  the  others.] 

We  will  go  in  ;  you  also,  gentlemen. 

[As  he  is  about  to  enter  the  tent,  the  tapestry  is  opened  from 
within  by  Jeanne,  who  stands  in  the  entrance] 

JEANNE 

My  Dauphin  and  the  Lady  Catherine 
Are  welcome. 

CHARLES 
[Coldly] 

'  Tis  some  time,  Maid,  since  we  met, 
And  there  are  solemn  matters  to  impart. 
Come,  Catherine. 

[Exit  Charles  into  the  tent] 

CATHERINE 
[Aside  to  La  Tremouille,  as  she  follows  Charles] 

Why  do  you  make  me  face  her ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

[Aside] 
Tis  but  a  moment ;  play  the  game  well  now. 

[Exit  Catherine.     La  Tremouille  speaks  to  Jeanne] 
This  is  Commander  Flavy  of  Compi&gne. 

JEANNE 

I  pray  you  enter,  sir. 

LA  TREM     JILLE 

Tni.3,  Brother  Richard 
Of  Troyes. 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1  3  1 

{Brother  Richard,  approaching  slow,  and  suspicious,  makes 
constantly  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  scatters  before  him 
liquid  from  a  viall\ 

JEANNE 

What  is  he  sprinkling  ? 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Holy  water. 

JEANNE 

More  boldly,  sir  ;  I  shall  not  fly  away. 

BROTHER   RICHARD 

How  know  I  yet  whether  thou  art  from  God  ? 

JEANNE 

Enter  and  learn.  —  Come  in,  Sieur  La  Tremouille  ; 
The  room  is  small  to  hold  both  you  and  me, 
But  skilful  driver  turns  in  a  sharp  space. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
{Pausing  beside  her.  ] 
'Tis  you  or  I,  Jeanne. 

JEANNE 

You  or  God,  Seigneur. 

\Theygo  in  together,  the  tapestry  closing  behind  them.     Enter 
(right)  D'Alen$on  and  La 


D'ALENgON 

'Tis  shame  enough,  La  Hire,  immortal  shame, 
That  she  who  hath  for  us  her  toil,  her  visions 
Given  in  service,  should  be  snared  about 
By  webs  of  this  arch-spider,  La  Tremouille, 
To  struggle  and  to  suffer  ;  yet  'tis  worst 
That  he  —  that  he,  whom  from  a  mockery 


132  JEANNE  D^ARC 

She  hath  made  emperor,  could  so  relapse 
As  to  install  this  heinous  substitute, 
Rochelle. 

LA   HIRE 

Not  Catherine  ?     Kate  of  Chinon ! 

D'ALENgON 

[Bitterfy.] 

She,  too,  hath  visions  —  in  Tremouille's  brain  — 
Impugning  those  of  Jeanne  ;  and  Charles,  her  dupe, 
Treats  her  with  amorous  credulity, 
Half  gallant  and  half  gudgeon. 

LA   HIRE 

This  would  make 
The  little  flowers  of  Saint  Francis  swear. 

D'ALENgON 

If  they  had  but  devised  some  common  sham  ! 

But  to  pry  inward  to  her  maiden  soul 

And  steal  that  delicate  and  fairy  stuff 

The  visionary  fabric  of  a  child, 

Whose  dreams  of  saint  and  seraphim  take  on 

The  sureness  of  reality  —  to  make 

Of  that,  I  say,  a  tawdry  counterfeit 

To  ordain  the  humbug  of  a  courtesan  — 

No,  it  is  monstrous  ! 

LA   HIRE 

Peste  !  less  metaphysic, 
And  say  what's  to  be  done.     Where  is  she  ? 


JEANNE  D'ARC  133 

D'ALEN£ON 

There ; 
The  King  and  Catherine  are  with  her. 

LA  HIRE 

Well, 
Trust  her  to  make  a  charlatan  turn  feather. 

D'ALEN£ON 

There  is  the  pity  of  it !     How  may  she, 
Unconscious  child,  disprove  in  Catherine 
The  nature  of  illusions  which  her  own 
Imagination  shares  ?  —  God  spare  her  that ! 
For  there's  no  pang,  'mongst  all  our  mortal  hurts, 
Sharp  as  the  vivisection  of  a  dream. 

LA   HIRE 

I  love  thee,  friend  D'Alengon,  but  thy  mouth 

Is  stuffed  too  full  of  parchment.     Pray,  disgorge ; 

What  means  all  this  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

No  matter.    (Broodingly)    Once  at  Orleans 
I  spake  harsh  truth  to  her  myself.     God  knows 
I  said  it  but  to  save  her. 

LA   HIRE 

By  my  stick, 
What  shall  we  do  ?     Go  in  there  and  smash  pates  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

That  would  be  madness. 

LA   HIRE 

What  the  devil,  then  ? 


1 34  JEANNE  D  'ARC 

D'ALEN^ON 

This  :  I  am  strong  in  money  and  estates 
And  have  a  certain  influence  with  Charles 
Which  I  have  never  yet  used  :  if  he  disowns 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  then  I  will  offer  her  my  hand 
In  marriage. 

LA   HIRE 

Thou!  thou  —  to  the  Maid  of  God  ! 

D'ALEN£ON 

No,  to  the  maid  of  Domremy  —  "  Jeannette." 

This  is  no  time  for  superstitious  cant ; 

I  must  now  serve  her  and  be  practical. 

I  am  a  duke  and  she  is  peasant-born ; 

I,  as  her  husband,  would  uphold  her  power ; 

If  she  reject  me  —  mine  alone  the  pain. 

LA  HIRE 

Dost  thou  not  fear  the  wrath  of  God  for  this  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

There  is  no  God  for  me  but  human  love, 
Nor  vision  save  the  true  vouch  of  mine  eyes, 
And  human  love  and  true  vouch  of  mine  eyes 
Compel  me  to  this  act. 

LA    HIRE 

How  long  hast  thou 
Run  daft  ? 

D'ALENgON 

Jeanne  !  Jeanne !  thou  shalt  not  stand  alone. 

LA    HIRE 
{To  himself.'} 
Fala !     This  comes  of  poesie  and  parchment ! 


JEANNE  D^ARC  135 

\_Hastening  after  &Alenc,on,    where   he   has  gone  toward 

Jeanne's  pavilion.~\ 

Look  ye,  my  duke,  walk  this  way  to  my  tent 
And  reassure  me  that  thou  be  not  mad. 

D'ALENgON 

Indeed,  for  love  of  her,  perhaps  I  am. 

[Exeunt  at  back,  La  Hire  drawing  &Alenc,on  away  from 
the  tent,  from  which  —  after  a  brief  pause — Charles 
bursts  forth,  followed  by  Catherine  and  soon  afterward 
by  La  Tremouille,  who,  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the 
tent  watching  them,  twists  the  tapestry  with  his  fingers^ 

CATHERINE 

Charles !     Charles,  my  King !     Forgive  me. 
CHARLES 

To  forgive 

Is  simple :  to  obtain  forgiveness  —  where 
'Mongst  all  my  fellow-men  may  I  now  look 
To  be  forgiven. 

CATHERINE 

I  am  penitent. 

CHARLES 

Why,  so  am  I ;  yet  surely  as  that  moon 

Shall  wane,  so  surely  shall  we  lapse  again. 

Such  creatures,  Kate,  as  you  and  I  are  changelings, 

Filched  out  of  hell  by  Satan's  forefinger 

And  smuggled  into  clouts  of  human  kind 

To  mock  at  God  the  Father. 

CATHERINE 

Mine  the  sin ; 
I  lied  to  you. 


1 36  JEANNE  D  ' 

CHARLES 

Hush  !     7  lied  to  myself. 

Who  made  me  King  of  France  ?     Whose  vision  smote 
The  clutch  of  England's  armies  from  my  throne  ?  — 

{To  his  torch-bearers.'} 

Go  on !  put  out  those  lights,  and  if  you  can 
Put  out  those  stars !  and  thou,  dear  Maid  of  God, 
Let  me  forget  how  basely  I  forgot. 

[Exit  with  torch-bearers.    La  Tremouille  comes  to  Catherine, 
where  she  stands  trembling^} 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Have  we  been  drugged  with  wine  ? 
{Points  to  the  tent.~\ 

What  happened  there  ? 

I  saw  you  speak  to  Jeanne,  Jeanne  look  at  you. 
What  was  it  she  did  ? 

CATHERINE 

I  know  not  what  she  did, 
But  what  she  is  shone  through  her  as  a  lamp 
Into  my  wretched  heart,  and  made  me  weep 
To  know  myself.  —  Pray,  lead  me  to  my  tent. 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Defeat  once  more ;  defeat !     By  Hercules ! 
For  strategy  to  outwit  the  lords  of  Rome 
Commend  me  to  a  sheep-girl  from  Lorraine  ! 

[Exit  with  Catherine.     Within  the  tent  is  heard  the  voice  of 
Brother  Richard.'} 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 3  7 

BROTHER  RICHARD 

The  city's  gates  shall  open  to  the  King. 

\_Enter  from  the  tent  Louis,  who  holds  aside  the  tapestry, 
staggering  with  sleepiness.  As  Brother  Richard  passes 
out,  he  pauses  and  looks  back  within;  then  turns,  moved, 
to  LOUISA 

Child,  thou  art  hallowed  to  be  her  page. 
[Exit  toward  the  ramparts, ,] 

LOUIS 
\_Drowsily.~] 

I  dreamt  I  was  awake  and  marching  —  marching  — 
[Sinking  upon  the  near  bench,  he  is   overcome  by  slumber. 
Enter  Jeanne  and  Flavy  from  the  tentJ] 

JEANNE 

I  promise  you,  Commander,  I  will  aid 
Your  brave  folk  in  their  need.     Bid  them  take  heart ! 
As  soon  as  I  have  crowned  my  King  at  Rheims, 
I  will  go  to  help  the  good  town  of  Compiegne. 

FLAW 

Your  coming  shall  be  rarely  welcomed,  Maid. 
\_Exit  (right).-] 

JEANNE 

All  will  be  over  soon  —  my  King  be  crowned  ! 
Louis,  come  forth  !     We'll  sleep  under  the  sky ; 
The  night  "is  hot,  it  stifles  there  within  — 
Louis ! 

[Discovering  him.~\ 

Ah,  weary  boy !     Thou  art  still  marching 


138  JEANNE  D^ ARC 

Toward  Rheims.  —  Wait  but  a  moment,  little  Louis, 

Under  our  lids  I'll  overtake  thee  there. 

[She  lies  down  in  her  armour  on  the  next  bench  and  falls 
asleep  in  the  moonlight.  Enter  at  back,  D'Alen$on  and 
La  Hire.  Seeing  Jeanne,  they  pause,  speaking  together 

in  low  tones.'] 

LA  HIRE 

Not  if  thy  love  were  whiter  and  more  chaste 
Than  Abelard's  for  his  dead  Heloise  — 
No,  friend  D'Alengon ! 

D'ALENgON 

Will  you  answer  me  ? 
A  thousand  common  drudges,  artisans, 
Peasants  and  townsfolk  daily  flock  to  her 
And  kiss  that  hand  in  homage.  —  Am  then  I 
Less  worthy  ? 

LA   HIRE 

They  have  faith  in  her.     They  seek 
Salvation. 

D'ALEN£ON 

For  themselves !     I  seek  it  for  her. 
This  maid  is  holy  by  simplicity 
And  not  by  miracle.     She  is  a  brave 
And  gentle  girl,  no  more.  —  How  noble  she  sleeps ! 
By  Heaven,  I  will  keep  vigil  here  to-night. 
I  love  her.     Do  you  trust  my  honour  ?  —  Leave  me. 

LA   HIRE 

[  Giving  his  hand."] 

Good  night,  friend ;  but  beware  the  Lord  His  angels. 


JEANNE  D  ''ARC  1 39 

D'ALENgON 

When  did  such  maidenhood  sleep  in  the  moon 
Before  ?     Or  such  a  soldier  dream  in  armour  ? 
The  camp  is  silent  and  this  summer  night, 
But  all  the  dark  is  sown  with  dragon's  teeth 
That  with  the  dawning  shall  spring  up  in  steel 
To  rage  and  stab  again. — What  martial  seed, 
Dropt  in  the  April  lap  of  green  Lorraine 
By  angels  sacking  hell  from  Sinai's  mount, 
Bourgeoned  this  armed  girl  to  captain  us  ? 
Here  sleeps  in  silver  the  strong  virgin  —  France. 
She   murmurs:    What   was   that? — Dear   God,    my 

name ! 
"  D'Alen^on ! "  —  Jeanne!  Jeanne,  leave  thy  dreams 

ajar 
And  let  me  through  to  thee  —  so,  with  a  kiss. 

[As  he  springs  to  kiss  her  hand,  he  is  caused  to  stagger  back 
by  a  dazzling,  intervening  splendour,  out  of  which  there 
takes  shape  the  winged  form  of  St.  Michael,  holding  his 
sword  drawnl\ 

Thou  burnest  me,  beloved ;  I  grow  blind ; 

My  brain  is  stung  with  fire.     Where  are  thou  snatched 

In  flame  away  from  me  ?  —  Ah  !  —  stand  not  there 

Between  us !     Merely  would  I  bend  to  touch 

Her  still  hand  with  my  lips  and  then  begone, 

And  yet  are  you  implacable  ?  —  Stern  Saint, 

Vision,  or  flaming  Minister  of  Heaven, 

Hallucination,  or  Apocalypse, 

Whatso  you  are  that,  beautiful,  take  on 

The  likeness  of  imagination,  why  — 

Why  do  you  stand  between  us  ? 


140  JEANNE  D^ARC 

[  With  his  sword  St.  Michael  strikes  D"1  Alen$on.~\ 

Monseigneur ! 

At  last  the  knowledge  and  the  sin  of  it, 
The  sinning  and  the  beauty  !  —  Lord,  I  go. 
For  thou  art  bridegroom  to  the  Maid  of  God, 
And  she  who  lieth  there  is  thy  betrothed, 
And  I,  that  dared  to  love,  have  sinned.     Adieu, 
Bright  sentinel !     Thine  is  the  vigil  now, 
The  midnight  and  the  Maid  inviolate. 

\_Exit  D'Alen$on  among  the  cypresses.  A  minute  now  passes 
before  the  curtain  falls.  Various  night  sounds  steal  upon 
the  scene ;  distant  torches  flicker  out ;  and  the  murmurs 
and  motions  of  a  great  army,  camped,  are  suggested  to  the 
audience's  imagination,  while  Jeanne  —  the  virgin-cap 
tain  of  that  host — lies  sleeping,  moonlit,  in  her  armour, 
guarded  by  the  sentinel  archangel,  vigilant-eyed. ~] 


SCENE  II:  A  Street  in  Rheims.     July  17,  1429. 

The  street  itself  is  hidden  behind  an  old,  half -ruined  wall  of 
the  city,  over  the  irregular  top  of  which  are  visible  the 
upper  windows,  balconies,  and  gables  of  the  houses  oppo 
site,  from  which  the  inmates  are  seen  watching  the 
crowds  below,  invisible  to  the  audience.  The  foreground 
of  the  scene  consists  partly  of  the  wall  itself,  partly  of 
an  embankment  (with  a  crooked,  elevated  foot-path, 
conducted  by  stone  steps  to  different  heights),  which 
slopes  upward  to  the  waifs  edge.  On  the  left,  at  a 
breach  in  the  wall,  is  a  wide  ruined  gate,  admitting  in 
gress  from  the  street  on  to  the  lower  foreground  left 


JEANNE  D^ARC  141 

where  the  path  starts  to  ascend  the  slope  of  the  embank 
ment.  Seated  on  the  wall,  or  peering  over  it  (where 
they  stand  on  the  embankment  foreground},  and  filling 
the  gateway,  are  varicoloured  groups  of  persons. 
Among  these  (right)  are  Pierre  Cauchon  and  NICOLAS 
LOISELEUR,  in  the  dress  of  artisans ;  near  the  gateway, 
amid  a  group  of  peasants,  Jacques  d'Arc,  Perrin,  Pierre 
a"1  Arc,  and  Mengette.  High  in  a  seat  of  vantage  on 
the  wall,  a  PRIEST  is  looked  up  to  by  the  people  near 
by,  as  a  presiding  authority. 

The  following  dialogue  is  spoken  —  with  varying  intervals 
of  pantomime — during  partial  lulls  in  the  hubbub  of 
the  hidden  populace  in  the  street,  and  the  reflex  of  that 
among  the  groups  of  the  foreground. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  there  resound  from  the  left  a  fanfare 
and  a  vast,  distant  shout. 

A  CITIZEN 
Those  trumpets,  father  ? 

THE  PRIEST 
[On  the  watt.] 

Now  the  King  receives 
His  crown  in  the  cathedral,  and  the  people 
Acclaim  the  Maid  of  God. 

PERRIN 

[To  Pierre  and  Mengette '.] 

Why  were  we  late  ! 
They  say  Jeannette  stands  next  the  King  himself. 

MENGETTE 

And  all  in  armour ! 


142  JEANNE  D^ARC 

PIERRE 

If  she  goes  right  by ! 
And  if  she  never  sees  us  ! 

JACQUES  D'ARC 

Fret  thee  not ; 

I  ha'  fetched  from  home  a  clinkle  in  my  pouch 
To  catch  thy  sister's  ear. 

PIERRE  AND   MENGETTE 

What  is  it  ? 

JACQUES 
[Mysteriously.] 

Look! 
[Shows  a  string  of  little  pewter  sheep  bells.] 

LOISELEUR 
[To  Cauchon] 

Your  Reverence'  disguise  is  masterly. 

CAUCHON 
Thanks,  Nicolas ;  and  yours  ! 

A  WOMAN 
[To  Mengette.] 

From  Domremy? 

Aye,  that's  the  town  the  King  hath  freed  from  tax 
Because  the  Maid  would  ask  no  other  boon. 

MENGETTE 

[Anticipating  her  triumphant  effect  with  blushes  of ' pleasure."] 
I  am  her  neighbour  and  her  brother's  wife ! 


JEANNE  D^ARC  143 

CAUCHON 
\To  Loiseleur^ 

Yes,  much  at  stake !   My  kind  friend  Winchester 
Hath  promised  me  the  archbishopric  of  Rouen  — 
When  she  is  ashes. 

LOISELEUR 

That  should  not  be  long. 
She  goes  hence  to  help  Flavy  at  Compiegne. 
At  Compiegne  there  will  be  a  witch  for  sale. 

CAUCHON 

Aye,  Flavy  knows  the  smell  of  English  gold  — 
\Lookingfrom  the  wallJ] 

How  proud  her  pageant  rides  !     The  dust  rolls  up 
Like  smoke  before  her. 

LOISELEUR 

Soon  it  shall  be  fire. 

CAUCHON 

Look  where  she  comes ! 

LOISELEUR 

Who  looketh  where  she  goes  ? 

\_The pageant  has  begun  to  enter.  Above  the  wall  are  visible 
the  lances  and  halberds  of  the  marching  soldiers,  their 
standards  and  the  floats  of  the  pageant.  From  the  left, 
after  the  passing  of  several  displays  and  devices,  the 
tumult  and  hosannahs  roar  and  swell  to  a  rhythmic, 
paan-like  acclaim  upon  the  entrance  (as  yet  unseen  by  the 
audience)  of  Charles  and  Jeanne '.] 


144  JEANNE  D^ARC 

THE  PEOPLE 

Noel !  Noel !  Noel !  The  Maid  of  God  ! 

[As  this  royal  portion  of  the  pageant  passes  beneath  the 
central  groups  in  the  foreground,  Jacques  d"1  Arc  at  the 
gateway  takes  from  his  pouch  the  little  pewter  bells,  and, 
raising,  tinkles  them  in  the  uproar.  As  he  does  so,  the 
throng  in  the  breach  itself  are  swayed  inward  and 
aside  by  a  commotion  from  the  street  without,  and  Jeanne 
and  the  King  appear  in  the  gateway  on  horseback,  their 
immediate  followers  —  La  Tremouille,  De  Chartres, 
D'Alen$on,  La  Hire  —  being  visible  behind  them] 

JEANNE 

\Reining  her  horse.] 
My  King  ! 

CHARLES 

[Halting  the  procession,  turns  solicitously  to  Jeanne  who, 
not  yet  seeing  Jacques  d'Arc  and  his  bells,  is  listening 
with  a  bewildered  look  of  pleasure.] 

What  is  it,  Maid  ? 
JEANNE 

The  sheep  ! 

JACQUES   D'ARC 
[Breaking  from  the  crowd  and  going  to  her.] 

Jeannette ! 

JEANNE 

Ah  !  —  Papa  Jacques  ! 

PIERRE,  MENGETTE,  AND  PERRIN 

Jeannette !  Jeannette ! 


JEANNE  D^ARC 

JACQUES 
[At  her  horse's  side.} 

My  lass ! 
JEANNE 

[Kissing  his  hands  where  he  raises  them  to  her.~] 
And  art  not  angry  with  me  ? 

JACQUES 

God  is  good. 

Thou  hast  served  Him  long,  lass.     Come  now  home 
with  me  ! 

CHARLES 
This  is  thy  father  ? 

JEANNE 

May  I  go  with  him? 
[Showing  the  bells^ 

See,  he  hath  fetched  me  these  from  home. 
[  Waving  her  hand.} 

_.  Mengette ! 

Perrm  !  —  I  did  not  knit  the  other  mitten ! 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Sire  — 

JEANNE 

[Turning  quickly.] 

May  I  go  ?     My  vow  to  God  is  kept, 
And  nothing  now  prevents  — 

LA  TREMOUILLE 

Your  promise,  Maid. 
Compiegne  — 

JEANNE 

I  had  forgot ! 
L 


146  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LA  TREMOUILLE 
[To  the  Procession.} 

Go  on. 

JEANNE 
[To  the  group  with  her  father^ 

Adieu ! 

I  must  go  to  serve  my  good  friends  at  Compiegne. 

JACQUES 

Thy  mother !  —  waiteth  for  thee. 

JEANNE 
[Tossing  to  Jacques  the  steel  gauntlet  from  her  right  hand.~\ 

Show  her  this, 

And  tell  her  I  would  rather  spin  at  home, 
But  for  a  web  begun  God  sendeth  thread 
And  I  must  spin  for  France. 

[The  Procession  begins  to  move ;  the  crowd  sways  between 
Jeanne  and  her  father,  who  stands,  with  bowed  head, 
holding  the  gauntletJ] 

MENGETTE 

[Lifted  from  her  feet  by  Pierre,  tears  off  her  head-dress  and 
waves  it  above  the  people's  heads. ~\ 

Jeannette ! 

[Jeanne,  turning  her  horse  and  looking  straight  on,  holds 
in  her  left  hand  her  banner  ;  in  her  right  —  close  to  her 
ear —  the  string  of  clinking  bells,  to  the  others  inaudible 
through  the  cries  of  "Noel!  "  and  the  thunder  of  the 
cathedral  chimes .] 

JEANNE 

The  sheep  ! 


ACT   V 


JEANNE  D^ARC  14? 

ACT   V 

SCENE  :    Jeanne's  Prison  at   Rouen.     May  30, 


A  dim  room,  with  only  one  small,  barred  window  (at  back) 
very  high  up.  Doors,  right  (down  stage)  and  left  (up 
stage).  Massive  stone  pillars  sustain  the  ceiling.  In 
conspicuous  in  the  obscurity  of  the  right  upper  corner 
stands  a  narrow  cage,  with  irons  for  the  occupants 
neck  and  hands. 

As  the  scene  opens,  a  group  of  persons  in  black  ecclesiastical 
gowns  is  seen  passing  slowly  across  the  prison  chamber, 
from  the  door  of  an  inner  room  (right)  to  the  outer 
door  (left).  Among  them  are  Pierre  Cauchon  and 
Nicolas  Loiseleur.  They  are  followed  by  John  Gris, 
BROTHER  MARTIN  LADVENU,  and  the  CAPTAIN  OF  THE 
ENGLISH  GUARD.  In  the  background  loiter  THREE 
SOLDIERS  OF  THE  GUARD,  coarse  types  of  men-at-arms. 

CAUCHON 
What  think  you,  Nicolas  ? 

LOISELEUR 

Her  spirit  fails ; 
I  fear  she  will  not  last 

CAUCHON 

That  will  not  do  ! 

She  cost  too  dear  a  penny  at  Compiegne 
For  us  to  let  her  now  escape  the  fire 
And  pass  like  any  Christian  soul. 


148  JEANNE  D^ARC 

LOISELEUR 

'Twere  pity. 
CAUCHON 

And  this  long  trial  which  hath  lately  closed 
To  end  in  farce  !  —  Besides,  the  folk  of  Rouen, 
That  weep  around  this  prison  on  their  knees, 
Will  say  we  murdered  her.     Whereas,  i'  the  fire, 
Not  merely  shall  we  brand  her  heretic 
And  witch,  but  we  shall  tarnish  with  her  shame 
The  crown  of  Charles,  which  this  said  witch  put  on 
him. 

LOISELEUR 

Then,  too,  your  Reverence'  archbishopric 
So  nearly  earned ! 

CAUCHON 

Hush  ;  nothing  of  that  now. 
We  must  make  haste.  —  Captain,  a  word  with  you. 

\As    Cauchon  takes  the   Captain  of  the  Guard  aside,  John 
Gris  speaks  to  Brother  Martin.] 

GRIS 

I  was  her  prisoner  at  Orleans  once, 
And  now  her  keeper  !    Would  to  God  again 
I  were  her  prisoner,  and  she  once  more 
In  that  proud  freedom.  —  When  did  she  begin 
To  doubt  her  Voices  ? 

BROTHER  MARTIN 

After  the  great  lapse, 
When  she  recanted  all  in  the  open  square, 
Seeing  the  executioner's  black  cart 


JEANNE  D' 'ARC  149 

Awaiting  her.     Since  then,  though  she  hath  now 

Resumed  her  man's  garb  which  she  then  put  off, 

And  docilely  affirms  her  faith,  yet  she 

Is  shaken  in  her  soul,   for  now  no  more 

She  sees  her  visions,  hears  no  more  her  Voices. 

GRIS 
To  what  doth  she  ascribe  this  ? 

BROTHER  MARTIN 

I  know  not. 

A  year  of  darkness  and  imprisonment, 
And  slow,  sharp  probings  of  the  Inquisition 
Have  weighed  on  her  bold  spirit.     This  I  know  : 
That  many  an  age  your  English  hearts  shall  bleed 
To  hear  the  story  which  doth  end  this  hour. 

GRIS 

[Drawing  closer  to  Brother  Martin.] 
Where  stays  your  Paris  monk  ? 

BROTHER  MARTIN 
[Secretively  looking  toward  CauchonJ] 

The  duke  is  still  here  ; 

Three  days  I  have  concealed  him  in  my  cell, 
But  still  have  found  no  means  to  bring  him  to  her. 

GRIS 
Means  must  be  found.     I'll  call  the  guard  away. 

CAUCHON 

Thou,  Brother  Martin,  come  with  us ;  let  stole 
And  Eucharist  be  brought  for  her  last  rites. 


1  50  JEANNE  D  'ARC 

[To  the  Captain.] 
You  have  your  orders,  sir. 

\To  the  Inquisitors^ 

Come,  gentle  masters, 

This  noon  we'll  lunch  with  long-earned  appetites. 
\_Exeunt  (left)  Cauchon,  Loiseleur,  Brother  Martin,  and  the 
Doctors   of  the  Inquisition.     At  the    door,  John   Gris 
stops  and  speaks  to  the  Captain  of  the  Guard.] 

GRIS 

The  orders  of  my  lord  the  Bishop  you 
Will  execute  with  gentleness.     Remember 
That  you  are  Englishmen  and  she  a  maid. 


THE  CAPTAIN 

[To  the  Guards  .] 

Remember,  too,  my  lads,  how  this  same  "  Maid  " 
By  damned  arts  hath  sent  ten  thousand  souls 
Of  Englishmen  to  hell. 

FIRST  GUARD 

Comes  now  her  turn. 

THE  CAPTAIN 

Fetch  here  the  prisoner  and  put  on  her 

The  garb  of  heresy. 

[Exeunt  guards  into  the  inner  room,  whence  they  return 
immediately,  dragging  Jeanne,  one  of  whose  feet  is  tied 
to  a  heavy  log.  From  this  they  unchain  her.  She  is 
dressed  still  as  a  man,  in  a  worn,  dull-coloured  garb.  In 
aspect  she  is  very  pale,  and  of  a  spiritual  emaciation. 
From  the  cage  in  the  corner,  the  Captain  has  brought  a 


JEANNE  D  'ARC  1 5 1 

long  white  tunic  and  a  mitre-shaped  cap,  which  he  hands 
to  one  of  the  guards,  who  prepares  to  put  them  upon 
Jeanne] 

JEANNE 
Will  it  be  now  ? 

THE  CAPTAIN 

Aye,  and  forever  after. 

SECOND   GUARD 

There  be  piled 

Kindlings  in  Rouen  Square.     After  the  Bishop 
Hath  spoke  his  sermon,  there  shall  be  a  bonfire. 

THIRD   GUARD 

They  say  the  Square  is  packed. 

FIRST  GUARD 
\To  Jeanne,  lifting  the  tunic. ~\ 

Come! 

JEANNE 

'Tis  for  me  ? 
What  are  these,  sir  ? 

FIRST  GUARD 

The  wedding  cap  and  gown 
That  old  Dame  Inquisition  gives  her  daughters 
When  they  go  to  the  Devil. 

SECOND  GUARD 

He'll  make  her  a  brave 
House-warming  — 

[Saluting  Jeanne  derisively.] 
Hail  to  's  doxy ! 


152  JEANNE  D^ ARC 

THIRD   GUARD 

Hail  her  cap ! 

[Taking  if  from  her  head,  for  Jeanne  to  see,  he  holds  it  aloft 
while  the  other  guards,  severally  bowing  and  doffing  be 
fore  it,  read  the  words  which  are  blazoned  on  its  sur- 

face.-] 

THE  GUARDS 

Apostate  !  —  Heretic  !  —  Idolatress ! 

\_Recnter  Brother  Martin,  with  candles  and  stole.  He 
stands  in  the  doorway ;  behind  him  appears  another 
cowled  figure,  which  withdraws  when  the  Captain 
speaks, .] 

BROTHER  MARTIN 

I  bring  the  last  rites  for  the  prisoner. 

THE   CAPTAIN 

Whom  hast  thou  with  thee  there  ? 

BROTHER   MARTIN 

A  monk  from  Paris. 
\Enter  abruptly,  in  the  doorway,  John  Gris.~\ 

GRIS 
Captain,  your  guard  is  wanted  in  the  court ! 

THE  CAPTAIN 
{To  the  guards.} 

Come  !  —  Jeanne,  by  order  of  my  lord  the  Bishop, 
Thou  hast  four  minutes  wherein  to  confess 
And  gear  thy  soul  whither  it  goes.  —  Hear'st  thou  ? 

JEANNE 

I  hear  thee,  godon. 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 5  3 

THE  CAPTAIN 
\To  Brother  Martin.} 
The  executioner 

Is  waiting  in  the  court.     When  you  shall  hear 
His  bell-cart  tolling,  come  away. 

[Exeunt  the  Captain,  John  Gris,  and  the  guards,  the  third 
guard  handing  the  mitre-cap  to  Brother  Martin,  who 
sets  it  and  the  candles  on  the  floor  of  the  cell.  During 
the  time  in  which  the  door  remains  open,  sounds  of  dis 
tant  chanting  come  from  without.'] 

JEANNE 

What  voices 
Are  those  ? 

BROTHER  MARTIN 

Priests  chanting  for  thy  soul.  —  My  child, 
I  will  return  at  once  and  bring  thee  comfort. 
[Exit  (left).] 

JEANNE 

They  are  not  priests  :  that  is  the  Judge's  Clerk 
Reading  the  questions  in  the  Justice  Hall ; 
Day  after  day  they  lead  me  down  to  answer. 
Do  not  you  hear  ?     Those  are  the  accusations, 
And  there  are  seventy.     He's  crying  them 
Aloud  in  the  open  court.     He  will  not  cease ; 
And  all  the  masters'  gowns  are  turned  to  grey.  — 
Cease  !     I  have  heard  all,  my  lords !     Pray,  bid  him 

cease. 

[From  behind  the  blank  wall  which  Jeanne,  dad  in  her 
white  tunic,  thus  supplicates  with  outstretched  arms, 
there  rises,  articulate,  out  of  the  far-heard  chanting  of 
the  monks,  and  becomes  loud  enough  for  clearness  —  a 
monotonous,  droning  voice] 


1 54  JEANNE  D  ^ 

THE  VOICE 

And  first,  according  to  Divine  Law,  as  according 
to  Canon  and  Civil  Law,  it  is  to  you  the  Bishop,  as 
Judge  Ordinary,  and  to  you  the  Deputy,  as  Inquisi 
tor  of  the  Faith,  that  it  appertaineth  to  drive  away, 
destroy,  and  cut  out  from  the  roots  in  your  Diocese, 
and  in  all  the  kingdom  of  France,  heresies,  witch 
crafts,  superstitions  ;  to  punish  and  amend  all  those 
who  act  against  our  Faith  :  to  wit,  sorcerers,  diviners, 
invokers  of  demons,  their  abettors  and  accomplices. 
And  your  power  as  to  this  exists  against  all  lay  persons, 
whatever  be  their  estate,  sex,  quality,  and  preeminence; 
in  regard  to  all  you  are  competent  judges. 

What  have  you  to  say  to  this  Article  ? 

JEANNE 

Pass  on ! 

[The  Voice  resumes  with  the  same  intoning  monotony.  Before 
it  is  done  speaking,  there  softly  reenters  (left)  Brother 
Martin,  followed  by  D''Alenc,on.  The  latter  is  dressed 
in  a  robe  and  cowl  similar  to  the  monk's,  but  these  are 
but  thrown  loosely  over  his  usual  garb.  Jeanne  neither 
hears  nor  sees  them^\ 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CLERK 

But  it  is  time  to  instruct  you  more  fully,  my  lords 
and  judges,  on  the  offences,  excesses,  crimes,  and  mis 
demeanours  committed  by  the  accused,  Jeanne  d' Arc, 
in  many  and  diverse  places.  In  her  childhood  she 
was  not  instructed  in  the  beliefs  and  principles  of  our 
Faith ;  but  by  certain  old  women  she  was  initiated 
in  the  science  of  witchcraft,  divination,  superstitious 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  155 

doings,  and  magical  arts  —  so  much  so  that,  in  these 
interrogations  before  you,  touching  her  visions  and 
the  apparitions  of  fairies,  she  hath  confessed  that  even 
now  she  doth  not  know  if  these  fairies  were  evil  spirits 
or  not. 

What  have  you  to  say  to  this  Accusation  ? 

JEANNE 

I  have  answered  you  before.     As  for  the  fairies, 
I  know  not  what  they  are.     But  for  my  teaching 
I  was  brought  up  to  say  my  Creed,  and  do 
Whatso  a  good  child  ought. 

D'ALENCON 

Whom  speaks  she  to  ? 

BROTHER  MARTIN 

Some  phantom  of  her  fever ; 
For  pale  hallucinations  come  to  her, 
No  more  her  sacred  visions  ;  random  voices  — 
The  memories  of  her  late  torture-trial  — 
Not  now  her  saints.     Oft,  as  I  told  you,  she 
Will  call  your  name. 

D'ALENCON 
Oh,  that  she  call  it  now ! 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CLERK 

Of  Robert  de  Baudricourt  Jeanne  asked  to  have 
made  for  her  a  man's  dress  and  armour  appropriate. 
These  garments  and  armour  being  furnished,  Jeanne, 
rejecting  and  abandoning  women's  clothing,  her  hair 
cut  around  like  a  young  coxcomb,  took  tunic,  doublet, 


1 56  JEANNE  D  ^ 

surcoat,  close-cut  cap,  buskins,  spurs,  sword,  lance, 
and  other  arms  in  fashion  of  a  man,  affirming  that  in 
this  she  was  executing  the  order  of  God  as  had  been 
prescribed  to  her  by  God's  messenger. 
[Jeanne  makes  toward  the  wall  a  gesture  of  pathetic  affir 
mation^ 

D'ALENCON 

Surely  she  hears  some  voice !  —  Is  she  so  ill  ? 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CLERK 

What  have  you  to  say  to  this  Accusation  ? 

JEANNE 

Pass  on !     It  is  so. 

D'ALENCON 

Jeanne  !      What  is  so  ? 

BROTHER  MARTIN 

She  wanders. 

Speak  to  her  ;  but  remember  you  yourself 
Are  under  doom  —  an  escaped  prisoner ; 
Speak  not  too  loud. 

D'ALENCON 

Nay,  let  them  find  me.     Death 
Comes  equitably  now  with  her ;  and  though 
I  am  powerless  to  save  her,  yet  'tis  sweet 
Not  to  survive. 

BROTHER   MARTIN 

Your  will,  then,  is  to  be 
Discovered  and  to  perish  ? 

D'ALENCON 

Here. 


JEANNE  D  ^ARC  1 5  7 

BROTHER   MARTIN 

If  I 

Consent,  it  is  because  she  needs  you  :  you, 
Who  first  instilled  her  doubts,  must  extirpate  them. 
Farewell ;  though  she  shall  think  you  but  a  dream, 
Yet  speak !  —  I  will  confess  her  —  at  the  flames. 
\_Exit.-] 

D'ALENCON 

The  flames  !  —  O  Christ !  how  dare  I  speak  to  her  ? 

[Leaning  faintly  against  one  of  the  stone  pillars,  D'Alen$on 
struggles  for  self-possession.~\ 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE   CLERK 
\_Gradually  sounding  more  remote^ 

Obstinate  in  her  presumption,  Jeanne  hath  said, 
proclaimed,  and  published  that  she  recognized  and 
discerned  the  voices  of  Archangels,  Angels,  and 
Saints ;  and  she  hath  affirmed  that  she  knoweth  how 
to  distinguish  their  voices  as  of  such  ;  she  hath  not 
feared  to  proclaim  that  St.  Michael,  Archangel  of 
God,  did  himself  come  to  her ;  also  that  by  revelation 
of  Saints  the  crown  of  Charles  the  King  was  shown 
to  him  through  her.  All  these  are  lies  imagined  by 
Jeanne  at  the  instigation  of  the  Devil,  or  suggested 
by  demons  in  deceitful  apparitions,  to  make  sport  of 
her  curiosity  —  she  who  would  search  secrets  beyond 
her  capacity  and  condition. 

What  have  you  to  say  to  this  Accusation  ? 

JEANNE 

What  should  I  say,  my  lords  ?  —  Yes,  they  were  lies ! 


1 5  8  JEANNE  D  ^ 

My  Voices  lied  to  me,  my  friendly  visions, 
That  brought  to  me  all  holy  signs  of  heaven, 
'They  lied  —  they  lied  !  for  look,  my  masters  :  now  — 
Now  I  am  brought  before  you  in  this  hall, 
And  you  command  me  to  reveal  you  proofs 
That  what  I  saw  was  holy ;  now  I  call 
On  those  bright  saints  to  be  my  witnesses  — 
They  come  not,  answer  not !     Ah,  truly  ye 
Condemn  me ;  I  was  tempted  :  demons  were  they, 
And  have  deserted  me,  deluded  me. 

D'ALEN£ON 

Do  not  believe  them,  Jeanne ! 

JEANNE 

You  hear  him,  judges. 

Even  so  he  spake  at  Orleans,  and  I  chid  him. 
My  duke  forewarned  me  well,  yet  I  believed. 

D'ALENgON 

Child,  look  on  me.     The  latest  moment,  Jeanne, 
Yet  I  am  here  :  I  too  was  prisoner, 
Knew  naught  of  this  ;  but  when  I  heard,  escaped, 
And  now  I  am  come  to  witness  to  the  truth. 

JEANNE 

My  lords,  you  hear !     Even  he  is  come,  a  witness, 
Before  you. 

D'ALENgON 

Not  a  witness  before  them,  — 
Your  dread,  grey  judges,  —  but  before  those  saints 
And  thy  dear  soul  to  attest  their  faith  in  you 
And  yours  in  them. 


JEANNE  D^ ARC  159 

JEANNE 

How  pale  thou  art,  my  friend. 
You  must  not  sorrow  now  to  speak  against  me. 
You  bade  me  doubt  those  visions,  yet  I  kept 
My  faith  ;  the  blame  was  mine.     Well  I  remember 
You  warned  me  then  they  were  but  "  vanities 
And  whisperings  of  the  air." 

D'ALEN£ON 

I  knew  not  then  — 

JEANNE 

How  France  should  sell  me  to  the  English  !  No  ! 
Pass  on ;  'tis  over.  —  Will  you  address  the  court  ? 

D'ALENgON 

Here  is  no  court  nor  trial-chamber,  Jeanne. 

Feel  here  —  D' Alengon's  hand  ;  this  is  your  prison, 

Where  in  a  little  moment  Death  shall  enter 

And  lead  us  both  away.     I  cannot  bar 

His  coming,  child,  but  I  can  make  it  happy 

If  this  swift  prayer  can  move  your  soul  to  hear. 

JEANNE 

To  me  you  pray  ?     To  me  ?  —  They  used  to  pray 
To  me  at  Rheims,  and  all  the  chimes  were  ringing. 

[In  the  distance  a  harsh  tolling  resounds,  and  ceases. ~\ 
Hark  !  they  have  begun  again. 

D'ALENgON 

That  knelling  bids 

Me  speak,  nor  hesitate.     Jeanne,  what  I  say 
Is  heaven  and  hell  and  life  and  death :  I  love  you, 
How  —  you  shall  know  and  understand.     At  first 


160  JEANNE  D^ARC 

I,  now  your  anchorite,  burned  high  for  you 

With  man's  desire.     Ere  yet  you  came  to  France, 

I  caught  afar  the  pastoral  breath  of  you, 

And  sudden,  when  you'd  come,  you  rose  for  me 

Amidst  our  army's  spears  —  a  martial  Ruth, 

Bright  from  those  rustled  battle-sheaves  of  men, 

And  drew  me,  soul-bound.  — '  I  will  love  this  child/ 

I  vowed,  '  and  win  her  love,  for  'tis  in  sooth 

A  simple  child,  whose  quick,  religious  heart 

And  pied  imagination  fill  for  her 

The  air  with  painted  angels,  speaking  saints 

And  bell-toned  voices.     Who  that  lives  would  not 

Follow  her  eyes  to  Orleans  and  to  Rheims  ? ' 

And  so,  a  pagan  in  your  holy  war, 

I  followed  you.     At  last  we  camped  by  Troyes. 

There  in  the  moon,  after  the  weary  day, 

While  pale  in  armour  you  lay  slumbering, 

I  kept  my  vigil.     Suddenly,  your  lips 

Murmured  "  D'Alengon."     Ah  !  I  leapt  to  kiss 

Your    sleeping    hand  —  Jeanne !     Jeanne  !     it    rose 

between  us 
And  smote  me  back  ! 

JEANNE 

My  hand  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 

No,  his. 

JEANNE 

What  smote  thee  ? 

D'ALEN£ON 
The  mystery  of  you,  the  holiness, 


JEANNE  D'ARC  1 6 1 

For  these  —  a  blazing,  keen,  and  two-edged  sword  — 

That  silent  angel,  radiant  in  wrath, 

Did  smite  me  with  ;  and  lo  !  with  blinded  eyes 

I  saw  thee  —  what  thou  art :  the  Maid  of  God. 

Angel,  or  saint,  or  guardian  wraith  —  that  blow 

Made  me  to  pray,  to  tremble,  and  believe. 

I,  who  did  boast  to  riddle  a  child's  heart, 

Was  humbled  and  was  glad. 

\The  knelling  resounds  again.'] 

JEANNE 
[Listening."] 

Is  it  the  cart? 
I  am  afraid.     Art  thou  to  go  with  me  ? 

D'ALENgON 
[Gently. ~\ 

Of  course ;  and  all  your  visions  wait  for  you 
To  call  them.     Child,  let  not  my  sceptic  love 
Lead  your  weak  spirit  to  the  world's  dark  sill 
Thus  stricken  —  blinded,  groping  for  its  saints 
Believe !  you  who  have  made  me  to  believe. 

JEANNE 

Why  have  they  then  forsook  me  —  those  sweet  saints 
That  used  to  come  —  at  least,  methought  they  came. 
Why  do  I  not  behold  them  any  more  ? 

D'ALENgON 

Because  —  remember  what  you  told  the  King ! 
You  must  believe  before  you  may  behold  ! 
But  I  —  I  wronged  your  faith.     Those  noxious  seeds 
Of  doubt  I  sowed  in  freedom  —  here,  in  darkness, 


1  62  JEANNE  D  ^ 


Prison,  and  pain,  your  black  Inquisitors 

Have  fostered  for  their  ends.     They  are  your  demons, 

That  have  deluded  you  with  sophistries  ; 

And  if  they  ask  for  proof,  say  to  them  this  : 

Orleans  is  not  a  lie  ;  the  gates  of  Troyes 

Are  not  delusions  ;  no  !  Rheims  stands  in  stone; 

France  —  France  is  saved,  and  Charles  the  King  is 

crowned  ! 
Who  hath  done  this  but  God  and  Jeanne,  His  Maid  ? 

JEANNE 

Art  thou  a  dream  comest  to  tell  me  this  ? 
Or  art  my  knight  —  my  bonny  duke  ? 

D'ALENgON 

Madonna  ! 

JEANNE 

It  doth  not  matter  !  —  Though  a  thousand  miles, 

And  clouds  and  towers  and  darkness  are  between  us, 

Still  are  you  with  me,  absent,  like  a  star. 

Thou  only  knewest  me,  thou  only  knowest, 

Save  God,  and  thou  hast  brought  me  back  to  Him. 

Look  down,  St.  Michael  !    Once  again  I  wear 

Thine  armour  :  Lord,  I  dread  no  more  the  flames. 

Lean  down,  St.  Catherine,  St.  Margaret  ! 

See,  now  I  am  your  true  girl  —  take  my  soul 

And  tell  me  you  forgive,  for  I  believe  ; 

Tell  me  you  are  true,  and  all  my  sin  a  dream  ! 

[Outside  as  the  slow,  harsh  knelling  resounds  close  by,  high  in 
the  dim,  barred  window  appear,  in  splendour,  the  faces 
(and,  in  part,  the  forms)  of  St.  Michael,  St.  Catherine, 
and  St.  Margaret,  who  look  down  upon  Jeanne  .] 


JEANNE  D^ARC  1 63 

THE    FEMALE    SAINTS 
[Simultaneous  with  the  bell.~] 
Thy  pain  —  it  is  a  dream. 

JEANNE 
[With  a  cry  of  passionate  joy '.] 

My  duke  —  they  hear  ! 

Behold  they  are  come  again  !     I  see  their  faces, 
I  hear  their  voices  ! 

D'ALENCON 

[Kneeling  beside  her  with  bowed  head,  kissing  the  edge  of  her 
white  robe,  speaks  to  himself  ~\ 

Would  to  God  might  I ! 

\_The  door  (leff)  is  thrown  open.  In  the  passageway  are 
heard  heavy  approaching  footsteps  and  a  murmur  as  of 
many  people.  Jeanne,  standing,  gazes  up  at  the  grated 
window  —  her  face  lit  with  a  lost  rapture.^ 

THE  VOICE  OF  BROTHER  MARTIN 

[From  outside.~\ 
The  executioner. 

ST.  MICHAEL 
[His  voice  sounding  with  the  approaching  belll\ 

Be  not  afraid. 

[Away  on   the  left,    voices   of  men    are   heard   chanting: 
"  Kyrie  eleison  !   Christe  eleison  /  "] 

FINIS 


ADDENDA 

In  Act  I,  the  refrain  of  the  opening  song  is  dialectical. 
In  Act  III,  the  letter  dictated  by  Jeanne  to  the  English 
is  authentic ;  in  the  same  act,  the  hymn,  Veni,  Creator 
Spiritus,  known  as  the  Hymn  of  Charlemagne,  was 
historically  sung  by  Jeanne  and  the  French  before 
battle.  In  Act  V,  the  words  spoken  by  the  Voice  of 
the  Clerk  are  transcribed  directly  from  the  translation 
of  the  Seventy  Articles,  prepared  by  the  Promoter 
d'Estivet,  which  formed  the  Accusation  of  Jeanne's 
Trial  in  Ordinary  —  published  in  the  Appendix  of  the 
volume  of  Original  Documents  on  Jeanne  d'  Arc, 
edited  by  T.  Douglas  Murray,  New  York,  McClure, 
Phillips,  &  Co.,  1902. 

The  author's  sincere  acknowledgments  are  due  to 
Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  for  her  friendly  interest  in  hav 
ing  specifically  directed  his  attention  to  the  above 
illuminating  book,  which  has  constituted  the  chief  in 
forming  source,  and  a  large  inspiration,  to  his  work. 

The  music  of  the  play  —  incidental,  as  well  as 
lyrical  —  has  been  composed  by  Mr.  F.  S.  Converse, 
and  may  be  had  in  published  form. 

The  cover  design  and  the  scene  illustrations  of  the 
present  volume  were  drawn  by  Mr.  Barry  Faulkner. 

The  acting  rights  of  the  play,  in  America  and 
England,  are  owned  by  Mr.  E.  H.  Sothern  and  Miss 
Julia  Marlowe. 

PERCY  MACK  A  YE, 

CORNISH,  N.H.  September,  1906. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

A  Comedy 
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"  This  is  a  comedy  in  four  acts,  —  a  comedy  in  the  higher  and  better 
meaning  of  the  term.  It  is  an  original  conception  worked  out  with  a 
rare  degree  of  freshness  and  buoyancy,  and  it  may  honestly  be  called  a 
play  of  unusual  interest  and  unusual  literary  merit.  .  .  .  The  drama 
might  well  be  called  a  character  portrait  of  Chaucer,  for  it  shows  him 
forth  with  keen  discernment  a  captivating  figure  among  men,  an  in 
tensely  human,  vigorous,  kindly  man.  ...  It  is  a  moving,  vigorous 
play  in  action.  Things  go  rapidly  and  happily,  and,  while  there  are 
many  passages  of  real  poetry,  the  book  is  essentially  a  drama." 

—  St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

"  Audacious  in  conception,  delightful  and  amusing  to  read;  full  of 
Chaucerian  touches,  and  a  succession  of  most  artistic  pictures  that  will 
make  it  a  delight  to  witness  on  the  stage."  —  Booklovers  Magazine. 

"  The  play  is  an  admirable  piece  of  work,  and  should  appeal  most 
strongly  to  lovers  of  good  verse."  —  Leslies  Weekly. 

"A  vein  of  merry  comedy  runs  through  the  play,  which  makes 
highly  enjoyable  reading,  while  the  reflective  side  of  Chaucer's  charac 
ter  is  revealed  in  passages  of  high  poetic  merit."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


FENRIS  THE  WOLF 

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"  In  '  Fenris  the  Wolf,'  Percy  Mackaye  has  written  a  drama 
that  shows  triple  greatness.  There  is  the  supreme  beauty  of 
poetry,  the  perfect  sense  of  dramatic  proportion,  and  nobility  of 
purpose.  It  is  a  work  to  dream  over,  to  make  one  see  glorious 
pictures,  a  work  to  uplift  to  soul  heights  through  its  marvellously 
wrought  sense  appeal."  —  Los  Angeles  Examiner. 

"As  a  dramatic  poem  it  challenges  attention  both  for  its 
bold  conception  and  masterly  execution." 

—  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"The  tragedy  is  written  in  smooth  and  impressive  blank 
verse  and  the  speeches  are  short  and  to  the  point,  while  the 
scenes  and  action  are  described  with  rare  precision.  Much 
intellectual  enjoyment  may  be  derived  from  this  production, 
which  is  entirely  worthy  of  the  author  of  'The  Canterbury 
Pilgrims.'  "  —  Boston  Budget. 

"  Mr.  Mackaye's  work  possesses  compelling  interest  and 
beautifies  a  tale  that  ought  to  be  known  more  widely." 

—  Book  News. 


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THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

By  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 

Author  of  "  Ulysses,"  etc. 

Cloth    i6mo    $1.25  net 

"Ulysses"  was  accepted  as  proving  Mr.  Phillips's  right  to 
the  title  of  "  the  greatest  living  poet  of  English  speech."  Con 
structive  power  and  creative  genius  are  rarely  found  in  such 
perfect  combination  as  in  his  brilliant  dramas.  The  new  play 
is  not,  however,  biblical,  as  has  been  assumed  since  it  was  first 
announced  under  the  title  of  "  David  and  Bathsheba."  The 
theme  is  clearly  indicated  by  the  title,  but  the  play  opens  in 
the  Army  of  Cromwell,  and  runs  its  course  during  the  English 
Civil  War. 


ULYSSES 

A  drama,  in  a  prologue  and  three  ads 
By  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 
Cloth    i6mo    $1.25  net 

"That  a  young  man  should  in  so  short  a  time  have  sent  us 
all  back  to  read  our  Dante,  our  Josephus,  and  our  Homer,  is 
no  small  achievement,  and  that  after  reading  them  we  have 
pronounced  the  young  man's  work  not  unworthy  of  mention 
in  the  same  breath  with  the  masters,  is  high  enough  praise." 

—  Boston  Budget. 

WHEN  THE  BIRDS  GO 
NORTH  AGAIN 

By  MRS.  ELLA  HIGGINSON 

Author  of  " The  Voice  of  April-land  and  Other  Poems"  etc. 

Cloth    i6mo 

"They  have  melody  to  an  unusual  degree,  and,  like  her 
stories,  show  an  ardent  love  of  natural  beauty.  In  emotion, 
they  range  from  the  merry  to  the  gravest  moods." 

—  Providence  Journal. 


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WHERE   THERE   IS   NOTHING 

Being  Volume  One  of  Plays  for  an  Irish  Theatre 

By  W.    B.    YEATS 

Author  of  "In  the  Seven  Woods,"  "The  Celtic  Twilight,"  etc. 

Cloth        i2mo        $1.25  net 
Large  paper  edition  limited  to  100  copies.     Vellum.     $5.00  net 

"This  play  is  a  symbol  rather  than  a  postulate;  it  belongs  with  the 
plays  of  Hauptmann.  These  two,  Yeats  and  Hauptmann,  are  of  simi 
lar  perception;  both  search  for  truth;  both  scorn  formula;  both  indi 
cate  their  discoveries  by  symbols."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 


THE  HOUR-GLASS 

AND  OTHER  PLAYS 
Being  Volume  Two  of  Plays  for  an  Irish  Theatre 

By   W.    B.    YEATS 

Cloth        i2mo        $1.25 

Large  paper  edition  limited  to  100  copies.     Vellum.     $5.00 


IN  THE  SEVEN  WOODS 

Being  Poems  Chiefly  of  the  Irish  Heroic  Age.     Including 
Two  Plays 

By  W.    B.    YEATS 
Cloth        i2mo        $1.00  net 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


RETUR 


14  DAY  USE 

N  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICHBC 

LOAN  DEFT. 


PRROWED 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


LIBRARY  USE 

OCT  1  2  1956 

REC'P  LD 

HOT   1  9    1CKR 

UUl    l£    KJOT 

_6JAN'57JFX 

1957 
DEC  6     tQRpri 

-MW  vj       ICJDD  J- 

»27«92RCfl 

LD  21-100w,-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


VB  31873 


